Lines on a Page
by Lontano
Summary: When they think they can relax, something new comes up. This time, it isn't evil that has them resorting to desperate measures; rather, a battle with a psyche. Every day, Vejita gets worse. Sometimes the past is key, although what they find there may not be what they had expected. The life of a prince, as seen through the eyes of those who foolishly thought they knew him. GxV, RxV
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : It's tough on a new account. Lol.

**Warnings!** : Language, violence, angst, non-con, m-preg, homicide, suicidal thoughts, insanity, drug abuse, many other things that probably shouldn't have seen the light of day. Did I mention insanity? Okay.

**Pairings** : Goku x Vejita, past Raditz x Vejita, maybe some one-sided GhxV depending on how I feel later on.

Note : After the intial entrance, each chapter set in the past will be from a different character's perspective (Goku, Gohan, Chichi, Yamcha, Bulma, etc, etc.) so don't expect any character bashing, especially of the Chichi and Bulma variety. I'm not down with that, yo.

This is basically a story in which I intended to mash together every Dragonball Z fandom cliche ever. Like, every single one I could think of (you know them when you see them), because I've always wanted to do my own cliched story, and here it is! ;_; Totally fan-service for myself, but I decided to go ahead and slap it up anyway, just because. That being said, however, I still strive for a reading experience in which the English language is not mangled, nor are characterizations.

Again, expect every cliche known to mankind, good and bad. :D Reviews are always welcome. Slow updates, longer chapters later on. Not really meant to be taken all that seriously as much as it is for a good time (for me).

* * *

**Lines On A Page**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

It was a little more noticeable with every day that passed.

Maybe it shouldn't have taken them so damn long to realize it, but everything had been going so well that it was possible they had been ignoring it without being aware of it.

Their greatest victory of all, the defeat of Buu—why would they ever want to dampen the spirit of well-being by admitting that one of their own might have been deteriorating right before their eyes?

Bulma had been the first to notice it, of course. Why wouldn't she? She lived with the man, after all, and knew him better than any of them.

Gohan would have liked to say he had been the first one to realize there was something wrong, but he hadn't picked up on it until Trunks had.

By then, it had been a long time, perhaps, since Vejita had been going downhill.

Damn.

He had been so excited at the prospect of never having to fight again that he had merely cast aside the warnings.

Vejita was a little different, that was all.

He had always been _different_, so they thought that maybe it had just been imagination, or reading into things too much.

Or it could have been that they just hadn't cared enough.

There had been a little twinge of resentment at first; hell, he wasn't gonna lie.

Everything had finally settled down and had been going as well as it could have ever been, so it had agitated Gohan that there was something disrupting this welcome calm.

He had pushed it aside as quickly as it had come, knowing the second it had crossed his mind that it wasn't fair.

Vejita, after all, had wanted nothing from them, not a goddamn thing, so it wasn't right to blame him for lulling them from their sense of security.

They had plunged into concern all on their own.

Vejita asked for nothing.

Never had.

The only request that Vejita had had all of these years had been for them to respect him.

He had never asked them for their worry, or their pity.

All the same, he had it now.

They had finally acknowledged it to each other, and there was no turning back or just forgetting about it now.

Whether he liked it or not, Vejita had become one of them.

It had started simply, according to Bulma.

After being brought to life, after coming to terms once and for all that Earth would be the only place he lived for the rest of his days, after accepting the fact that he would never be the strongest, Vejita had still come home that day with something close to a smile on his face.

He had almost been _happy_, she said.

Happy.

A strange word in reference to Vejita.

She had assumed at first that he had been grateful for this second chance, or maybe that the fusion with Goku had imparted some kind of sense of well-being.

It almost hadn't mattered; Vejita had been happy.

For a while.

And then, like the changing of the tide, it had started to fade.

Contentment turned into melancholy.

Vejita's training regiment, although perpetual, started to slack a little.

Bulma, as smart as she was and as observant, had told Gohan that she suspected it had something to do with his father, although why she could not say.

Somehow, that hadn't really surprised him much.

The relationship between his father and Vejita had always been a complex one, and he wouldn't pretend to fully comprehend it.

_They_ probably didn't even comprehend it. Or, at the very least, his simple father certainly didn't.

What had happened between them during that long fight?

Whatever had clearly hadn't been enough for Vejita.

The fading of a fragile happiness had been hard for Bulma to watch, and Trunks too, although the child didn't have as clear a grasp on things as his mother did.

What was it that was going on in Vejita's head?

And his father's, for that matter?

Sometimes it came to Gohan, right there on the tip of his tongue, but before he could grasp it he was cast back into darkness, and comprehension fled.

It was so close.

Yet still it eluded him, and Vejita drifted farther away.

Every day, it seemed to get a little more obvious, at least to those who really knew the man the most.

Gohan accounted himself among them, and even though his father had more history with Vejita than he did, it still stung a little bit when Goku had come up to him and said, in a hushed voice, 'Say, don't you think Vejita's been acting a little strange lately?'

He had nodded his head, then, even though some part of him had wanted to snip, 'I'm surprised you've been around long enough to notice.'

Maybe he had been getting worse, too.

He couldn't put his finger on when exactly it was that he had become resentful of his father.

Maybe at the same time that Vejita had started to fade.

It was easy to blame his father.

Sometimes he wanted to go up to Goku and say, 'This is your fault! Go fix it!'

Yet, he didn't.

Because his father would have said, 'How is this my fault?' and Gohan didn't know how to answer that question, because he didn't really know what was wrong.

Still, he felt that his father could have tried harder.

Instead of slinking over to Gohan to inquire about Vejita, why couldn't he just go over himself and ask him how he was?

When had they started avoiding each other?

Rather, Goku was avoiding Vejita and Vejita was just floating around like a damn ghost.

They hadn't said a word to each other since _then_.

He didn't understand.

So, Vejita just suffered silently in the wake of their ignorance, and Gohan watched his father with irritability whenever he was near.

His head hurt most of the time.

He had tried to ask his mother if his father had been acting strangely as well, and beleaguered Chichi's response had just been a curt, 'How would I know? I never see him.'

Granted.

Months and months went by, years, and then suddenly Trunks was eleven, and Vejita looked _so _different that it was like staring at a stranger.

They had almost started accepting his decline, as if there was just nothing they could do about it.

Gohan was reluctant to give up on him like everyone else always had, and Bulma was really the only one that would have done anything and everything for Vejita, but even she couldn't figure this one out.

If any of them tried to approach Vejita with worry, the automatic response was always the same.

'I'm fine.'

Fine.

Yeah, right.

Vejita hardly seemed to be aware of who was asking the question or where he was.

Fine.

Looking at him now, Gohan could only see the Vejita that had come to Earth for the first time so long ago.

Tiny, lean and slender.

When had he slimmed down so much?

Vejita was always gone now, up in his head. Where did he go?

It was so obvious that even those who didn't come around much had noticed it.

Yamcha and Chichi, who weren't exactly frequent guests anymore, had voiced their concerns, and even Eighteen, who had always enjoyed teasing Vejita about his height, had fallen strangely silent in his presence. As if she were afraid that a gentle jab might be too much for him.

And yet, even now, even as he stood so weary and tiny before them, the greater majority of them were still far too intimidated by him to pry much.

Vejita may have been slimmer, but at that size he had nearly sent Goku straight to heaven, so it was perhaps ideal to be a little cautious.

A Vejita who was not in his right mind was far more dangerous.

Unpredictable.

Gohan wasn't afraid of Vejita. Hadn't been since he was a child.

All the same, he still couldn't seem to find the courage to corner Vejita and force some answers out of him.

Cowards, all of them.

Vejita had saved their skins on so many occasions, whether it had truly been his intention or not, and now they couldn't go to him and save him from the slope of depression.

The only one who could really talk to him was Bulma, and she was coming up empty-handed. He wouldn't give her the answers she sought, no matter how hard she pressed him.

It hurt her, that much was obvious to see.

Bulma loved Vejita, and Vejita loved Bulma, but that wasn't enough this time.

Trunks was still too young to really worry. To him, Vejita always had been and always would be invincible.

Gohan wished he still had the luxury of pretending.

Bulma had been speaking to him a lot more lately, although Gohan couldn't say whether it was loneliness from Vejita's distance or her worry for him.

Both, likely.

She confided private things to him that Vejita would have never wanted anyone to know.

Vulnerabilities.

Nightmares had started up ever since the last battle had ended, and she was certain that it was Babidi's intrusion that had brought them forth. Forcing open parts of Vejita's mind that had been mercifully closed off.

They didn't sleep in the same bed anymore. In the midst of one nightmare, Vejita had struck out blindly and very nearly hit her, as she had tried to grab him to calm him down, and, she said, he had been so upset at the prospect of hurting her he had banished her immediately into her own bedroom.

Like he always had, Vejita chose to suffer alone.

He wouldn't allow himself to rely on anyone.

Ideas came and went, and so did the days.

Together, Bulma and Gohan plotted away, and Vejita just wandered.

Goku stood back, watched, and stayed silent.

Gohan hated him for it, sometimes. What held him back?

Every day, Vejita became more distant.

What could they do?

Sand slipping through their fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **: Thanks for reading, as always!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The first occurrence that Gohan could remember in which Vejita had had a panic attack had been back on that hell-hole of a former planet that had been called Namek.

He had only spied it from around a corner in that grand spaceship, peering out as Vejita had sat on the floor, back against the wall as he had clutched at the fabric above his chest, gasping for breath even as it didn't seem to come, feet kicking out compulsively on the cold steel.

Gohan hadn't known exactly what it had been back then, but he recognized it now, and he had seen it a few times since, and Bulma had let it slip that every year they seemed to become more numerous.

They were frightening to witness, and it brought about an incredible feeling of helplessness; you could twist Vejita's arm and yell at him, sure, but how could you force him to breathe?

All they could do was wait for it to pass.

These days had just become waiting, it seemed.

Gohan found himself wandering to the window sometimes, and looking out for his father.

Why wasn't he here?

He and Vejita were supposed to have some sort of connection that none of the others could understand—so why the fuck wasn't he _here_?

Why wasn't he trying to figure out a way to help?

Didn't he care that the only other Saiyan left in the universe was fading right in front of him? Where was he?

And, beyond that, how sad was it that _he _couldn't even keep track of his own father?

In the end, Gohan just heaved a sigh and lowered the curtain, returning to the couch and throwing himself down upon it.

Frustration.

He was worried and angry and everything else in between, and the worst part of it all was just the powerlessness. They were used to fixing everything with their fists, relying on strength to win their battles—this time, fighting would solve nothing.

It struck Gohan then how little they knew of life.

Outside of their safety zone, things were so much harder.

Hitting Vejita wouldn't fix him. Reaching the next level of a Super Saiyan wouldn't be of any help against his depression.

Maybe that was why Goku was staying away; maybe he knew that he would be of no use in this situation, not fit to offer assistance in matters he knew nothing about.

...ah, damn, it was so much easier just to blame him, even if Gohan couldn't really think of a good reason why.

It made him feel a little better about himself to shoulder the entire blame on his father.

Why should they have had to realize that something was wrong with Vejita?

Goku should have seen it first.

The last of their kind.

Gohan stayed at Capsule Corporation most of the time now, although for Bulma's sake or his own he didn't know. He had worked so hard to save up and buy his own place, and now he wasn't even living there.

Sad.

Bulma was grateful for him, and Trunks enjoyed his presence, so that was alright.

Vejita may or may not have been aware that he had all but moved in.

Who could say, now?

Gohan tried to talk to him, every so often, but he would admit that maybe his own efforts were half-hearted at best. Vejita never engaged in conversations that he offered, not really, so maybe he had stopped trying.

They used to talk more before, right after the battle.

Vejita was smart, and Gohan was smart, too. They had understood each other, in that sense.

But beyond that, it was like wandering around in the dark and just trying to feel his way around.

He couldn't grasp Vejita, no matter how much he wanted to.

Couldn't figure him out.

Bulma, trying her best, started to invite everyone over far more often.

Her reasoning was apparently that Vejita was the happiest when they were all together right before a battle, so why not try to recreate that sense of camaraderie by gathering them together?

It didn't work as well as she wanted.

Everyone came over, but they were as awkward around Vejita as he was around them.

Vejita lingered around corners and in shadows, and it seemed to Gohan that even though he never spoke, he was waiting for someone to pay him some kind of attention.

Most of the time, unless Gohan took it upon himself, no one ever did.

Trunks and Goten were still kids and busy with each other, Chichi chatted with Bulma in hushed tones, Goku hung around with Krillin and Yamcha, and Piccolo was as much of a loner as Vejita was.

In the end, everyone went home, and Vejita was no better for it.

When had they become so useless?

Shadows.

* * *

The last gathering they had just wound up turning into an enormous disaster.

Even if the others hadn't been exactly great.

A hot summer night, muggy and cloudy. Fireflies invaded the fields and trees, and Gohan greeted each of them as they entered the house, and with every coat he took there was a look in his direction that clearly asked, 'Is it going to work this time?'

Gohan just kept that same smile plastered on his face, and tried his best to be hopeful, if more for others than himself.

Hell.

He didn't think their being here was really doing any good, but if it made them feel a little better and more involved then maybe that was enough.

Someone brought fireworks, to keep the charade of a real party up.

Still felt more like a wake, though.

He wondered, sometimes, if Vejita knew what they were up to, and if it bothered him much. Maybe some part of him was glad that they cared, although clearly their efforts hadn't been enough to illicit much of a reaction.

It had started off pretty well.

Goten and Trunks had a blast whenever everyone got together, especially since they were oblivious to the reason behind it, and had been tearing up the house as they chased each other through the halls.

Bulma had nearly screeched herself hoarse when Trunks had accidentally broken a shelf full of photos, but her anger had quickly vanished when Vejita had actually come out of his trance to grab a fleeing Trunks by the collar and force him to clean up the mess he had made.

She and Gohan had shared a look, and for the first time in a while, Gohan's smile was real.

Didn't last long.

As soon as Trunks and Goten had swept up the last of the glass and put the frameless pictures in a neat stack on the table, they ran off to play more, and Vejita faded back into his mind with a sigh.

Still, he had been there for a little while, so they tried to keep their hopes up.

Krillin was almost more excited than they were that Vejita had woken up for a bit, but then, Gohan supposed, Krillin had been one of the first to really take to Vejita back then, and might have been the first of all of them to really count him as one of the gang.

It had surely been nothing short of that excitement that had led him to shoot off the fireworks as soon as the sun had gone down.

It was supposed to be festive; pretty.

Vejita had nodded off in the chair off in the corner not long before, and everyone had been perfectly content to leave him alone when the first fireworks were set off outside.

Vejita looked so tired lately; let him rest, if he wanted to.

They had intended only to set off a few, and save the others for when they could lure Vejita outside to enjoy the show.

Krillin tried to angle them so they would explode right above the great skylight.

No one had really wanted to be outside, humid as it was.

Light.

And they were every bit as colorful as Gohan could have hoped for, but they had an unexpected consequence.

When the first few great bursts came, louder above the house than they had expected, the exhilaration quickly turned into horror as Vejita, waking with a great gasp, leapt up out of the chair in a fright and fell onto the floor, kicking himself back up against the wall.

How quickly things shifted.

Someone, Gohan couldn't remember later who, had said, "Calm down, it's only fireworks!" but it had come too late.

The panic attack had already started.

He had obviously slipped into some nightmare once he had nodded off, and the explosion of the fireworks so close had come at a bad time.

Where did he think was? What went on in those nightmares?

Stupid. What had they been thinking? Shoulda woken him up first...

Gohan and Bulma were the ones who reacted first, and crouched down in front of him as he sat there, fists clenched at his sides and eyes staring off blankly ahead of him.

He wasn't breathing.

What could they do?

Nothing, really, but all the same Gohan reached out and took Vejita's collar into his hands as Bulma crooned away in his ear, not knowing what else to do.

He could feel Goku hovering over, and wished, for once, that his father would keep up his habit of leaving.

Hadn't been here before. Why start now?

Gohan reached up, tapping Vejita's cheek with his palm, gently, trying to rouse him as Bulma whispered away.

"Come on, look here. It's alright. Wake up."

It took a while, and a lot of prodding, but finally Vejita's dark eyes lifted up, and, for the first time, he looked at Gohan and really saw him.

He was back.

The relief was great, and Gohan broke into a smile.

"There you are! Thought we'd lost you."

Staring.

He glanced down, and saw Vejita's still chest.

"Hey, come on, you're not breathing. You gotta breathe, alright? Come on. Look at me."

Slowly, it came back to him, and with a great inhale Vejita's chest finally loosened up.

Bulma ran her hands up and down his arm, sighing in relief.

As soon as he was back to himself, Vejita was already shoving them away, albeit gently.

They gave him space, trying to spare his pride as best they could.

For Vejita, it had to have been the worst feeling imaginable, to be vulnerable in front of others.

Vejita's entire life had been a front of strength, but there was no fooling anyone in the middle of a panic attack, and no matter how strong Vejita's mind was, his body had other ideas and cooperating was not one of them.

Gohan sat back, and kept a careful eye on him as he tried to catch his breath.

Krillin came in then from outside, the smile wide on his face, and said, loudly, "Did you see 'em? They came out a lot better than I...thought."

He trailed off, smile dropping like a fly when he saw the scene, and Vejita up against the wall.

Silence.

Finally, Vejita staggered up to his feet, backing into the dark hallway, eyes firmly on the ground in apparent embarrassment, and then he muttered something incomprehensible under his breath.

Might have been some mangled apology.

For what?

Before they could say anything, he turned tail and disappeared into the hall, Trunks hot on his heels.

Behind them, Yamcha muttered, "Well. So much for tonight. Some help _we_ are."

The mood was damp.

Gohan stared into the empty hallway, feeling rather defeated as effort after effort continued to flop. A hand fell on his shoulder, suddenly, and when he looked over, it was Bulma who was staring at him. "Why don't you go after him? I think he's taken to you, you know. Maybe he'll talk to you. Can't hurt to try."

Taken to him, huh?

Bulma would know.

It was a burst of pride and ego that made him do as she said, and he followed Trunks' voice to the bathroom. He pushed open the door with a finger, and what he saw there deflated any self-satisfaction he had been feeling.

Vejita sat on the floor, knees to his chest and head bowed down, and Trunks sat beside of him, watching with panicked bewilderment as his father clenched fingers in his hair and didn't respond to any voice or motion.

"Gohan," Trunks finally beseeched from below, "What's wrong with my dad?"

And Gohan, helpless as he felt, could only shake his head.

Desperation was growing.

For the first time, Gohan considered going to the lookout to see Dende, who might have had a few tricks up his sleeve that could help.

What did he have to lose?

Vejita just kept getting worse.

* * *

Months passed.

They tried to forget the incident as best they could, for Vejita's sake.

If they looked at him with any unusual expression, any at all, he would flee their presence and refuse to show his face again until they were gone.

Still, Bulma said that there hadn't been a reoccurrence since then, so Gohan (yet again) put aside his concerns and didn't act upon the idea to speak to Dende.

Like he had every time before, he just said to himself, 'Well, maybe it will get better.'

It never did.

How many times did he have to get burned before he finally put out the fire?

Summer faded into fall.

Goten turned eleven, as Trunks had the year before.

Gohan stopped to look at him sometimes, and realized he was getting taller every day.

They both were; Trunks was almost as tall as his father now, and would be taller in a few more years.

They made as big a deal of this birthday as they had every other, and Bulma never pulled any stops when it came to celebration.

Goten's birthday party was the first time for a while that they had been able to relax.

It was only at the birthday of Trunks or Goten that Vejita really seemed to wake up from his dream-world, if only in some subconscious attempt to offer them his attention.

He had never said it, and likely never would, but everyone knew that Vejita loved them as much as an aloof man like Vejita could love a child.

Goten and Trunks, although one was his child and one was not, were really the only things he seemed to even be hanging around for.

That thought frightened Gohan sometimes, though.

If Vejita were only sifting through life for them, what happened when they were older? When they grew up and moved away and didn't need him?

What happened when Trunks didn't need a father anymore?

He didn't like to dwell on it, because the outcomes he came up with usually weren't ones he liked to imagine.

Instead, he turned his mind to his little brother, and just tried to pretend that everything would be alright.

Goten, always pleased at being the center of attention, was ecstatic at the party and the gifts he received, although there was one glaring problem with what should have been a perfect day.

One guest was notably absent.

The most important.

Goku.

Like always, the event seemed to have simply slipped his mind, or he had gotten distracted by something else.

They tried to play it off at first, and when Goten asked where his father was, Chichi had tried to smile at him and said, "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be here soon."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gohan could see Vejita give a scoff.

Soon. Sure.

Hours ticked by.

The sun faded behind the trees.

Night fell.

And still, Goku hadn't shown up.

Gohan watched his little brother laughing away with Trunks as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, but as soon as conversation broke, he turned his eyes to the door in anticipation.

It never opened.

In the corner, standing in the shadow of a bookcase, Vejita seemed more agitated than Goten.

Maybe, like Gohan, Vejita had been waiting for an excuse to lunge at Goku's throat. If so, he had found a damn good one, and Gohan would not begrudge him for it.

He knew well how it felt to sit and wait for his father to show himself.

The end result was usually disappointment.

He had lost that idol-worship that Goten still had, and in its place there was a growing frustration.

Goku was a hero, no doubt, and in fact he was practically a saint.

That didn't make him a good father, or a good husband.

When the clock struck eleven and everyone was tired and ready to go home, the door finally opened.

Goku poked his dark head in carefully, as if he already knew that he was in trouble, and then he pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside.

A silence, and then an awkward, "Hey."

They looked at each other, each as reluctant to speak as the next, and then Bulma replied, quietly, "Hi."

Goten started to walk over to his father, and then fell still, as if he couldn't really remember what he had wanted to say.

In the end, they just stared at each other, and then Goku finally said, lowly, "I'm sorry I'm late."

Gohan bristled, but kept his mouth shut.

No one bothered to ask Goku where he had been, because the answer would never be sufficient.

Goten looked up at his father, and said, "You missed the cake."

Another tense moment of silence, and then Goku finally said, "I'm sorry, Goten. I was out... I forgot."

Nobody moved for a second, and Goten just pursed his lips and turned his eyes down at the ground.

Gohan crossed his arms, and was hardly interested in any apology, although getting one was a rarity. How many of his birthdays had been missed without even a realization or care?

For that, perhaps, Goten should count himself lucky.

Still, Goten's face was rather disheartening to look at.

"It's alright," he finally said, with a little sigh. "You were busy, I guess."

Yeah, right.

They all thought it, Gohan _knew_ they did.

How long before one of them finally said it?

The answer was, apparently, right now.

Vejita pushed himself out of his corner and came forward, speaking up for the first time in years as he lost his temper, as he so often did. He reached out to grab Goten's shoulder and pushed him backwards towards Trunks, taking his place in front of Goku instead.

"You never seem to forget the dates of any tournaments. You're never late to any fights. You never fail to show your face whenever there's trouble. Is it really selective memory or do you just make up excuses because you don't care about other things?"

Goku's shoulders tensed up, and his brow fell as the first bristling came.

"You know that's not true."

Gohan, rather than leaping in, kept back against the wall, and watched.

After all, Vejita had a knack for telling the painful truth. Who would ever want to get the middle of such an awkward argument, the way things were now?

Vejita was finally speaking; it was just a shame that it took such a thing to bring him out of the dark.

"I know no such thing," Vejita snipped back, and it was clear that just because he was fading didn't mean his attitude was. "Even when you were dead you didn't have an excuse. You could have come back. You didn't even know what Goten looked like until he was what, seven?"

Chichi opened her mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it and stayed quiet.

Maybe she was bitter, too.

Goku's fists were clenching at his sides.

"I did that for them, for all of you—"

"You did it for yourself! You did it because a family is too much work! You did it because being dead was a hell of a lot more fun for you than being alive. That's why you did it."

"Wha—what about _you_, huh?" Goku's casual voice had gained that edge that came only when he was ready for a brawl. "What about you? All you've ever gone on about is how strong you are. Or, rather, how strong you think you are! That's all that's ever come outta your mouth! Why am I so damn different, huh?"

Vejita stood there, looking so slight and so small before tall Goku, and his shoulders slumped a bit.

He looked tired.

Wan.

"Yeah, I talked about it all the time. And you know, for a while there I almost did what you did. But when I saw you die and when you decided not to come back, all I could think of was...what if Trunks had to grow up like Gohan, with no father? Like I did. I talked about it all the time, but talking and doing are two different things, you idiot. I stopped. I stayed home."

Goku's hair swayed, as the anger rose up.

Gohan was glad, more than anything, that someone finally said it.

Finally.

He had been thinking it for years.

But Vejita hadn't finished yet.

"I'm the one who showed up for Gohan's graduation instead of you. I help my son with his homework. I remember their birthdays. I make sure that Goten has rules."

"That's enough, Vejita."

Goku's voice was barely audible.

A sign of danger.

Vejita either didn't notice, or just didn't care. Most likely the latter.

It wasn't that Goku had missed a birthday party.

Of course not.

It was years and years of frustration, piling up on itself until one little pebble started a landslide, and Vejita was letting it all go straight downhill.

He couldn't seem to stop now, even if he had wanted to.

Whatever it was that was eating at him was quite obviously connected to Goku, and he was lashing out after years of silence.

"I was the one that had to explain to Goten what a Saiyan is. Trunks is afraid of dogs, Kakarotto. Do you even know what Goten's afraid of? Do you know how many times I—"

Goku finally snapped, and lashed out with a flash of gold, faster than they could nearly see, striking Vejita across the face with the back of his hand.

The slap sounded far worse than it really was, in such tension, but it was still forceful enough to spin Vejita around, to where he had to grip the edge of the end-table to keep himself from staggering.

For a moment, Goku just stood there, looking stunned more than anything else. He hadn't meant to strike him, that much was obvious.

They hadn't ever fought, like this.

Not like this.

Everything went silent.

Goku reached out then, looking mortified and maybe a little frightened, but when he touched Vejita's shoulder, it was as if he had set off the tripping wires to a damn bomb, because Vejita exploded.

Whirling around, hair on fire and teeth bared, he lunged at Goku so fiercely that it was damn-near terrifying.

They hadn't seen a look like that on Vejita's face since he had been tearing up Namek.

Murder.

It was frightening. Like he wasn't really there—and there was that danger again, that unpredictability that Gohan had been worried about before.

Vejita was too dangerous not to be stable.

He could have killed one of them without even being aware of it, as quickly as his mood shifted.

Turning on a dime.

And for a moment, even Goku seemed stunned at his sudden assault, but had sense enough to let his reflexes take control, falling back to give himself room to snatch Vejita's wrists.

It wasn't a real fight, by any means.

Over almost before it began.

For once, Gohan was glad that his father was stronger than he was, because he hadn't kept up with own training enough to be efficient at Vejita's level.

Although, in this strange instance of aggression, Vejita's movements were rather sloppy; Goku subdued him quickly and easily.

It was apparent that Vejita was off his game, either in his heart or his head. Somewhere else.

Good for them.

If Vejita had had a mind to, the entire building would have been demolished in a breath.

Instead, Goku pinned him still, as his energy fluctuated in a strange manner, and then the gold seeped out of Vejita's hair and his shoulders were so tense that it wouldn't have been a surprise if his chest had locked up.

A frightening thing happened then.

Vejita stood still before Goku, barely breathing, and his look was alarming as he whispered, lowly, "Get off of me."

It was his voice that had them worried, not the words.

Desperation.

A plea? Close to a whine.

Never, not ever, had they heard that tone coming from Vejita, not the man that had stood up to the most evil of tyrants with defiance, not the man that had laughed in the face of death.

Not Vejita.

One second he lunged to kill, and now he stood frighteningly passive.

Goku's grip stayed firm, a good thing until Vejita came back, but he leaned down, eyes dark as though something was hurting _him_.

As if seeing Vejita at all just caused him pain.

Gohan was glad that his father was getting a glimpse now that he couldn't just run away. Goku had spent so long avoiding Vejita, but this time he had no choice but to see what had been obvious to everyone else.

Something that Gohan had declared his fault.

"It's alright," his father whispered, in a weak, awkward attempt to help, but Vejita didn't really seem to hear him. "I'm sorry."

Vejita could have easily broken that grasp and probably could have beaten Goku to a pulp, yet he didn't seem to be aware of that fact.

Another strange whisper.

"I'll get stronger, I will. Just—get _off_ of me."

Oh, God, if Gohan could have gone back in time he would have grabbed that stupid little wizard and ripped his head off before he could unleash the demons in Vejita's head.

Vejita had been alright before that.

Hadn't he?

Goku shifted both of Vejita's wrists into one great hand, and reached up with the other to put fingers in the hair at the base of Vejita's neck.

Wrong thing to do.

Vejita kicked out at the touch, eyes widening and struggling to free himself from Goku's grip as his breathing became so quick it was on the verge of hyperventilating.

The first step towards a panic attack.

"Let go of him!" Gohan snarled, as he stalked forward to try and wrangle a thrashing Vejita, and Goku obeyed, releasing Vejita's wrists with a look of guilt.

Idiot. Everything had been fine until _he_ had shown up.

As soon as he was free, Vejita pushed himself back into the corner, sliding to the floor, chest heaving as he struggled to keep from slipping into that helplessness of not being able to breathe.

Gohan knelt down before him, as he had the last time, but he didn't dare reach out to touch him.

Not now.

It might have set him off again.

Every time just seemed to get worse.

Goku settled on a bended knee next to Gohan and said, weakly, "I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't think, I didn't... I didn't mean to. I didn't know it had gotten this bad."

The look that Gohan sent him could have killed a dog, and he muttered back, aggressively, "Nah, you wouldn't, would you? Maybe if you'd hang around a little more you'd actually know what was goin' on once in a while."

Goku fell back, and bowed his head.

Gohan knew that his father hadn't done anything intentionally, and he knew too that his father cared for Vejita as much as he did, but that didn't ebb his anger any.

...idiot.

Gohan suddenly felt tired, too.

It took a long time for Vejita to finally come back to the real world, and when he did he pushed them away, and stalked outside.

By then, everyone had already come to the conclusion that something had to be done.

One way or another.

The time for hoping and waiting had long since passed.

Enough excuses.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **: Thanks for the flattering words, guys. Means a lot. Everything after this chapter was a total blast to write, and I totally can't wait to get into it. XD

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Absolutely not."

"Please—"

"_No_."

That had been the first answer. A firm, absolute, irrefutable, 'No.'

No.

No, no, no, no.

Dende said, 'No.'

It had finally occurred to them what they needed to do, although it wasn't exactly an idea that had been really finalized and analyzed, mostly a notion more than it was a tangible solution, but they were desperate.

After those strange words Vejita had uttered, it was obvious that the problem was somewhere in his mind, and if they had tried to ask him about it, Vejita would have shut them down immediately, and violently.

So.

The issue lied in the past, and the past was obviously something that couldn't just be opened and closed like a book.

Vejita's mind, however, might have another story.

At least it would be, at any rate, if fuckin' Dende would cooperate.

They had gone to him with the idea, Gohan and Piccolo, and Dende had sat and listened to the whole story with a furrowed brow of concentration.

Dende had grown fond of Vejita, so it had surprised Gohan when he had stood up at the end and said, right off the bat, 'No.'

No?

It had shocked him so much then that he hadn't even been able to argue, and had just floated down from the lookout with a heavy heart.

It wasn't until he told Bulma of the response that he had gotten some sense knocked into him.

Quite literally.

With an aching head and a bruise, he had gone back up to the lookout, and tried to sway Dende to his side.

'It won't hurt him, Dende, so I don't see why you won't! This might help him, you know. Don't you think we owe him a little effort? If we were going back in time and messing up whole dimensions, I could see you sayin' no, but all we wanna do is take a look through his memories, is all. Something in there is bound to help us figure out what's wrong with him.'

Dende had sent him a sharp look, and had asked, 'And if his past life is what's making him worse now, then how can you know that living through that yourselves won't make any of _you_ crazy? And beyond that, don't you think that it's a little wrong to go rifling through people's memories? Would you like for someone to get inside _your _head and see every personal moment of your life?'

The obvious answer to that was no, and Dende could see in the sudden shuffling of his feet that he knew it was wrong.

He _did _know it was wrong.

A betrayal of the trust Vejita had put into them all, unspoken or not, and breaking that trust could very well have only made things worse.

If Vejita were furious enough, he could easily have destroyed the entire planet, and them along with it.

It was a risk they had become willing to take.

Vejita was getting worse anyway. How could their interference have possibly done more harm that what was already there?

Didn't Dende see?

Babidi's intrusion into Vejita's mind had set him off balance—if they did it right, why couldn't their intrusion set the scale back?

If nothing else, maybe they could understand Vejita more and try to shoulder some of the burden by enduring his life themselves.

Yet, no matter what flimsy reasoning he tried to muster (and, boy, was it ever flimsy), Dende refused.

Not an option this time.

Gohan came back every day, determined, but Dende held fast.

"Will you do it?"

"No."

The next day, the same.

"Will you do it?"

"No, I said."

Dende was as stubborn as Gohan was, and this time that wasn't a good thing.

Finally, his fragile patience began to fray, and his requests became more aggressive.

Less friendly.

"You ready to get off your ass and do it now?"

Dende sent him a foul look, and this time he said, "Get his consent, and I'll do it."

Bullshit.

"He would never let us, and you damn well know it!"

"Then," Dende shot back, "the answer is no!"

His irritation was growing, and so was Bulma's. She wouldn't let Gohan rest until he got Dende to go along with it.

Maybe Dende was right, and it might have been a terrible thing to do.

It was still going to be done anyway, come hell or high water, and when he came back one day to Capsule Corporation and saw Bulma sobbing her eyes out at the kitchen table, Trunks hovering around her in concern, it lit a fire under him.

Dende was his friend. Always had been, and always would be.

But that didn't stop a frustrated Gohan from bolting up to the lookout and grabbing Dende by his collar, lifting him straight off the ground, and pulling him in so close that their noses nearly touched so he could hiss, dangerously, "Enough! You've wasted enough time! You're gonna do it whether you want to or not! You were there the whole time they fought! Vejita made those wishes, and he's the only reason we're all standin' here now! You think my dad coulda won without him? Guess again. Now you're gonna return the favor."

Dende wasn't really afraid of him, knowing that Gohan didn't have it in him to hurt his friend, but the shaming had worked all the same.

Finally, after weeks of pressing, Dende furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and gritted out, "Fine."

Gohan set him down, gently.

"Thank you."

Dende just sent him a testy look, and didn't respond.

Didn't matter, as long as he helped.

A short silence hung over them, and then Dende said, "Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow. Sleep on it, won't you? And I hope that by the time I come down you'll have realized that you're making a mistake."

Gohan neatly cast aside the warnings, and repeated, firmly, "Tomorrow."

Dende very nearly glowered at him.

As he lifted into the air and meant to descend, Gohan cast one final look at Dende and added, "Don't make me come get you."

With that, he shot off, and his heart hammered the whole way back.

From relief or guilt, he didn't know.

* * *

Vejita just assumed it was another one of their now frequent gatherings.

Why wouldn't he have?

They had (although unknowingly) been setting the stage for their own move for over a year now.

Kinda funny, in a sad way.

When the word had been spread that Dende had consented, they came over to dutifully await his arrival, and Vejita just saw them pooling in like ants and moved about the shadows without a second thought.

He couldn't have known what they were planning.

And, as Dende had wanted, Gohan had slept on it long and hard.

He hadn't changed his mind, and neither had Bulma.

The others had been present for the talks and the discussions on the potential risks, so whoever showed up now was fully aware of what they were embarking on.

Their choice.

Gohan was rather disappointed to see his father was the first one to show up.

He had been hoping—perhaps unfairly—that Goku would have just forgotten, like he forgot everything else.

Not this time.

So, he just gave his father a curt nod, and Goku nodded back, and that was the extent of their conversation.

Krillin and Piccolo showed up next. Gohan had expected them.

Eighteen didn't come. He had expected that too; she was too distant to be interested in such endeavors, and would rather keep watch from the outside.

No one had ever expected Tien. They didn't even know where he was, and he hadn't been privy to anything going on lately, and even if he had, he wouldn't have shown up anyway. The only one who had never truly accepted Vejita on this planet.

What really surprised Gohan was the arrival of his mother. He hadn't really anticipated that Chichi would have had a great care to be put in the mind of man like Vejita, but...

Here she was.

Well. She knew what she was getting into. He wouldn't try to talk her out of it.

Yamcha's arrival had surprised him more than any other, honestly.

Maybe it had all been in his head when he had assumed that Yamcha and Vejita were not on speaking terms, and that there was certainly no affection between them.

To be fair, he had never really bothered to find out.

When Yamcha walked in, that strained smile on his face and his coat slung over his shoulder, he saw Gohan's look of surprise and just said, casually, "You were expecting me to dress better?"

For a moment there, Gohan had almost laughed.

A strange feeling as of late.

Still, he managed a smile, and let his hands fall loose as he teased back, "I guess I was expecting formal wear."

They both knew what Gohan had been thinking, but neither of them addressed it.

A question no one (expect perhaps Goku) would have ever been tactless enough to ask.

'Why are you here? Don't you hate Vejita?'

Yamcha just shut the door behind him, tense smile falling a little as he said, in a softer voice, "Well, we all can't dress like superintendents, Gohan."

"So I've been told."

That half-hearted attempt at regaining a long-lost sense of normalcy faded as quickly as it had come, and they all hung around here and there, waiting for one last guest.

Gohan wondered if Dende would really show up at all.

The part of Gohan that still cared about wrong from right certainly wouldn't have blamed him; the other part would have blasted up to the lookout and dragged Dende down by his robe.

That would be the least of Dende's problems if Bulma got a hold of him after a no-show.

They waited.

Again, just waiting.

As he sat there on the couch, fist holding up his weary head, Gohan glanced at the window from time to time.

It was in times like these that he kinda missed Videl.

She would have been excited and eager to jump into a risk like this, with that little smirk of confidence on her face.

...maybe he should have tried harder to make it work with her.

She had always reminded him a little of Vejita.

Stubborn and hard-headed. Determined. Not afraid to tell you exactly what she thought about something and more than happy to correct you when you did something wrong.

Likely to give you a punch you'd never forget if you pressed too far.

But still attractive, in both body and soul.

He heaved a sigh, shifting in agitation.

Bulma was pacing the kitchen so furiously that Gohan was surprised the tile didn't just give out beneath her.

Trunks and Goten had been let loose outside, in an attempt to distract them from what was going on.

Goten was easy to divert, but sneaky and observant Trunks was far harder to trick, and the fact that they had _wanted _them to cause a ruckus on the grounds had certainly put him on guard.

Gohan caught glimpses of him from time to time, trying to peer in through the window.

Too much like his father sometimes.

Finally, after what felt like a damn eternity of waiting, there was a soft knock on the door.

They all leapt up at the same time, and Vejita looked up from his corner at their strange reaction.

When the door opened and it was Dende who stood there in the frame, Vejita had taken a few steps forward, clearly curious about this unusual visitation.

Maybe he had gotten a little suspicious.

Even distant as he was now, Vejita was not a man that was easily fooled, and nothing so unusual would ever slip by his quick mind.

Keen on Vejita's caution, they tried to play it off as best they could, greeting Dende with cheer and false pleasantries.

Dende wasn't smiling, so the act was hard to pull off.

Gohan looked at him, trying to convey gratitude, but Dende only gave a short sigh and looked a little foul.

As if he had really expected them all to change their minds.

Sorry.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

It was the ultimate betrayal of trust, the ultimate gamble of something dear, but what else could they do? The only hope to figure out what was wrong with Vejita was to figure out _Vejita_, and that could only be done by delving into the most scared of privacies :

Memories.

Dende was here now.

It was going into action.

For all of the stress and worry in the planning of it, it was actually easy enough.

Downright simple, in fact.

Dende took a great, reluctant breath, and walked up to Vejita, saying, amicably, "Hi, Vejita. Long time, no see, huh?"

Vejita looked startled, more than anything else, that someone was speaking to him, more so that it was Dende.

Staring between them, and then Vejita just said, quietly, "Yeah."

Dende edged closer, and Vejita suddenly looked so _tired_.

Sad.

Dende saw it, too, and seemed to gather up the resolve that he had needed now that he was actually faced with it.

"It'll be alright," he whispered, and Vejita sent him a look of confusion.

Vulnerability.

Suspicion.

Too late.

A careless hand on Vejita's arm, and Dende put him out like a light.

When had he learned how to do that?

As they set Vejita up against the wall, Dende looked back at all of them, clearly still so reluctant, and said, "If anyone wants out, now's the time. This isn't going to be some vacation."

Chichi, agitated, snitted, "That's obvious!"

Gohan sent her a look of warning.

They moved forward only on Dende's good graces. Let him speak all he wanted, if it would serve them in the end.

Foundering under her son's gaze, Chichi clamped her mouth shut and let Dende carry on.

He did so, with a rather steely voice.

"It'll only be an hour or so out here, maybe two, but it's going to be an entire lifetime in your head. You'll feel every year, every day, every _minute_. Once you're in, you've got to ride it out until the end. I doubt that I'll have enough control to come in and pull one of you out at the first sign of trouble. I don't know if we'll be able to talk to each other. I'll try to keep up together, but this isn't exactly a tested thing. So, if anyone wants out..."

A plea, more than a warning.

Dende didn't want to do this, but it had gone too far.

Gohan was the first to reach out and grab Dende's hand.

Dende's face fell a little.

Bulma's hand wrapped around his own. Goku took hers. Piccolo, and then Krillin, and then Yamcha, with a beleaguered sigh, said, "Well! Can't turn on him now, can we?" and then grabbed a hold.

Chichi took hold, and Goku was the one to finally say, "You don't have to."

She sent her estranged husband a stern look, and said, "He's my friend, too."

Friend.

They must have all been thinking the same thing, for conversation fell still for a moment, as they raised their eyes up to each other's.

Friend, they called him.

This man had come to kill them, once.

Strange, how things worked out.

Gohan wondered, briefly, if Vejita had ever even heard that word in his entire life.

If anyone had ever called him 'friend'.

Well—he was about to find out, wasn't he?

"Hey!" came a sudden interruption from behind, "You're not going anywhere without us!"

Behind them, Trunks and Goten, appearing out of thin air, were suddenly trying very hard to wriggle in, and Gohan cursed under his breath.

Nosy little bastards.

Dende was the one to send them a stern tell-off.

"This isn't for children. I refuse to let you come along."

Trunks, as much his father as he was, put his hands on his hips and squared his feet.

"It's _my _dad!"

Goten opened his mouth and began, "Yeah, mine—" before falling short, covering his mouth quickly with his hands as he gawped at Gohan guiltily.

Well. Who could be mad at him?

Goku's eyes fell down to the floor, but he didn't say a word.

Gohan knew that he had completed the sentence in his head.

'Yeah, mine too!'

Vejita may as well have been Goten's father. To Goten, Goku was still rather otherworldly; too much of a hero to really be thought of as a father.

"Absolutely _not_," Bulma said, and her voice was sharp and strict.

Chichi sent Goten _that look_.

Finally, irritably, they crossed their arms and pushed out their bottom lips in defeat.

Attention returned to Dende.

"What are we in for? How's this work, exactly?" Yamcha asked, squirming in apprehension, and, by Dende's words, he was right to do so.

"Well, I'm not exactly an expert on this. I don't typically go poking through people's memories unless my hand is forced." A testy look in Gohan's direction. "But I imagine it won't be anything pretty, considering who we're dealing with here. As for how it works, well... I suppose it's kind of like watching a movie. Only you'll be playing the role of Vejita. As literally as I can mean that, too. You'll be spared no detail, and as far as I know, everything he feels, you'll feel. Pain, emotions, thoughts and all that whatnot. You'll be a spectator only. No one can see or hear you. Maybe not even any of us if I can't keep us together. My control in this matter is rather untested."

Dende was clearly trying to make this sound as unpleasant as possible in the hopes he would scare them into changing their minds.

Didn't work.

"So," Goku said, a bit wistfully, "Living a whole life as Vejita... This is gonna hurt, huh?"

"I presume so," was the droll response.

Dende sure did have a way of making them feel like dumb children.

Gohan, although quite undeterred himself, began to doubt Bulma and Chichi's involvement in this venture, but they cut him off when he sent them a look.

"We're going."

"Think we can't handle a little pain?"

He furrowed his brow, knowing they were making light of the situation, but he could hardly stop them. As long as they knew what they were getting into, it was their choice.

He wouldn't belittle them by trying to talk them out of it as if they were just silly girls.

It wasn't any physical pain that had him worried, at any rate.

Psychological damage was his main concern.

Each of them would have a different threshold, and they were leaping into something so vague and unknown that it was quite horrifying to really think about it.

To be painfully honest with himself, Gohan couldn't help but contemplate whether he was doing this for Vejita or for himself.

He wouldn't lie and say that he wasn't curious about the past of a man who refused to speak about it.

Curious.

Maybe that was selfish.

His own desire to understand Vejita on the basest of levels might have very well been clouding his judgment. Not a problem for him, no, but it would certainly be a great guilt upon his shoulders if something happened to one of the others just because he wanted to sneak a peek at something private.

Still...

He pushed it away, and convinced himself that it was for the best.

It was for Vejita's sake.

It had to be done.

And whether or not he truly believed that had no longer become a concern, for Dende had finally heaved a great sigh of defeat and was clearly ready to move forward.

A final warning.

"If this doesn't give you what you want, then you're on your own. Ask me for nothing else. And when we're done, you're going to look him in the eye and tell him what you did. Deal?"

"Deal," Gohan said, and Dende nodded his head.

His heart was racing with anxiety.

Second-guessing.

No time.

"Alright!" Dende said, as he closed his eyes and put his free hand upon Vejita's forehead. "Here we go!"

And that was that.

For Vejita, not himself.

Help, not curiosity.

He repeated it to himself over and over and over again.

Dizziness.

The last thing Gohan saw was a blur, as Trunks and Goten leapt forward at the last second to grab them.

Oh.

Shit.

Too late to stop them.

Everything went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **: Man! You guys sure do have potent questions, lol. I'm diggin' your interest, in a totally flattered way.

**Cheeky Holmes **: Yes it is indeed going to be GxV. :D **B-chan **: In all honestly, I really just wanted to have seven characters, because of my own desire to give lesser characters a little playtime, and also because I wanted to use them for different things. Sort of the seven rays of the sun kinda thing. For the most part Gohan gets chapters which involve idealism, Goku gets chapters that involve instinct, Piccolo gets loneliness, Yamcha insecurity, Bulma intellect, Chichi nostalgia, Krillin progression, etc. On second thought, it might just be that I enjoy tormenting my characters for no good reason whatsoever.

Don't worry too much about Goten and Trunks. Their antics usually have consequences for others rather than themselves, which is probably why they never learn anything. -_-

Also, this story is very, very long, in case I didn't mention that already. As always thanks for reading.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Stars.

The first thing that she saw when she awoke was stars.

Dizziness and static crackling in her ears, and she shook her head as disorientation slowly started to fade.

As the fog wore off Chichi realized, with a jolt of sudden apprehension, that she was standing at a window, hands resting on the pane.

Outside, in the dark sky, were billions of stars. Never had so many stars been visible from any place she had known on Earth.

She stood still for a moment, trying to get her mind straight and gather her bearings. The living room of Capsule Corporation was gone, that much was obvious, so it must have worked.

Which meant that she was now somewhere in a time and space that existed only in Vejita's mind.

She reached out then and ran fingers down the smoothness of the window pane before her, curiously, and was rather intrigued to realize she could touch it, at least in some sense, but she couldn't feel it.

She shivered.

How _strange_. Interesting.

It was as if she were completely numb, but there was no tingling or discomfort as she might have expected. Raising her hands up in front of her face, she rubbed them together in another experiment.

She could feel her hands, she was sure she could, but she couldn't sense them pressing against each other even as she watched herself making contact.

It wasn't anything she would have ever been able to explain in words, that was for sure.

To be able to feel and yet not.

It occurred to her then that there were no voices around her, no presences that were familiar. As she turned her head left and right a little, it was becoming rather obvious that she had wound up here alone.

No Dende present, no Goku, nor Gohan nor Bulma.

No one.

Guess Dende hadn't been skilled enough at this to actually made sure they stayed in a group. Certainly the last thing she had wanted, but a possibility she had been aware could happen.

So, then.

She was on her own, for many years to come.

It should have scared her a little, or made her nervous, but she just suddenly felt so damn comfortable and calm that this strange environment hardly seemed like a concern.

Content, and mellow.

It was almost too much for her just to stay awake, and so instead of trying to figure out more of what she could and could not do, she was content to say, 'ah, the hell with it', and relax a little.

Besides, she had gone many a year without Goku there to hold her hand, and she could do it again. She had almost gotten used to being alone now that Gohan was grown and Goten was getting more restless by the day.

Maybe it was better to go through this on her own instead of having Gohan and Goku trying to shield her when things got rough and telling her to get out if she could.

She was as strong as they were, physicality aside.

At any rate, the present was hardly a time to be panicking; she felt warm.

Lazy.

Incredibly lethargic.

All the same, a sudden whisper that was somehow in her ear and behind her at the same time caught her attention, and when she turned, she realized that she was not alone here after all. She was in a room, and there on a bed sat a small but very handsome man, holding something in his arms. He was pale and a bit clammy, clearly exhausted from something, and it seemed that even sitting up was taking a bit of effort.

His frame and build would have made it easy to mistake him for Vejita if she hadn't been able to see his face or hair.

Not him. Someone else.

A moment of confusion fought against the lulling, and she tried to keep herself focused on her exploring even though falling asleep seemed like the best idea in the world.

People moved around here and there, tidying up the room and coming over to check on the man from time to time, as if some great effort had finally been completed.

It took a long minute for it all to sink in, as she hung back towards the window feeling a bit exposed, and when she realized that she was only observing and was not visible, she grew a bit bolder. Lifting a tentative foot, she took a step forward, then another, and when she wound through the bustling people and rounded the bed she noticed that it was an infant clutched in the man's arms.

A soft, pleasant humming, as he stroked dark hair.

She tried to peer in, still a little too nervous to get all that close, but her nosy intentions were interrupted.

The door suddenly opened and a man pushed his way in, eyes wide and face flushed with panic, and Chichi leapt back as he rushed toward her. He passed by her uneventfully, and went straight to the bed, resting himself down on his knees and looking upward in worry.

Chichi knew it was Vejita's father; _had _to be, they looked similar.

Same hair, and the same eyes.

Funny; she had never contemplated that Goku and Vejita had really had parents, even though of course they had to have. It was so easy just to assume that they had come to be all on their own, but here was a man that looked like Vejita.

Would she meet Goku's parents as well?

So much to learn.

There was a moment of silence, as the two men stared at each other, and Chichi used the opportunity to observe them up close for the first time.

Vejita was the prince, so that must have meant that the man on his knees was the king. The other, who knew.

Dressed in strange garments that appeared to be a mixture of clothing and armor, hair lighter than Vejita's and holding a reddish tint, the king was rather tall and broad and had quite the regal air (as, she supposed, any king would), although it was apparent from his disheveled appearance that he had been going through something extremely stressful recently.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked a little ill, as did the other.

His hands were shaking, even as he gripped the edge of the bed.

She must have just missed some catastrophic event.

Finally, the man who she assumed to be the king took a deep breath in what might have been relief, and then he spoke.

"Is—is everything alright?"

The man on the bed turned up his chin even through his exhaustion and snipped, rather primly, "It was until _you _came barging in."

Chichi was taken aback for a second at how much this mystery man sounded like Vejita.

Come to think, the shape of that face was awfully familiar, too.

Similarities aside, the words were obviously nothing more than a mild tease, and the king turned his eyes downward to the bundle in the other's arms.

"This is...him?"

The man on the bed shook his head in exasperation, and held the baby up in the air for a good view.

"I should hope so! Who else would it be?"

Chichi watched, that sensation of sleepiness fading a little as the king reached forward tentative hands and took the baby up for himself.

How exhilarating—she could suddenly feel big hands gripping her sides, but there was no one there.

She could have squealed there for a moment in giddiness as her brain tried to process this sensory overload.

Felt like she was goin' a little crazy.

Ethereal, almost.

Being held and yet not.

Honestly, trying to think about it too much made her head hurt. Better just to go along with it rather than sit there and try to figure out all of the neurological details involved in all of this.

Let Gohan and Bulma get all technical about it.

Not her field.

The king stared at the baby in a moment of scrutiny, studying him as if he very nearly couldn't believe he was actually holding a baby in the first place.

A moment of staring, black eyes on black.

The baby's tail swished gently in the air, as he stared quietly at his father, passive and calm and still very content.

The baby was Vejita, of course. His hair and eyes were a dead give-away, and she wouldn't be here, after all, if it wasn't. That must have been why she felt so content and calm, because that was the way the baby felt at the moment, and of course those hands gripping her sides meant that she, essentially, _was _the baby.

Wait a second—_baby_?

'Oh,' she muttered irritably to herself, 'Dende, you're a little smartass! You didn't have to take us back _this _far!'

For all the good bitching about it did.

She was alone, and Dende possibly couldn't hear her.

Great.

But why so far?

Had something gone wrong right before they had taken that last leap? It was alarming to think that Dende had simply lost them somewhere along the line, and that maybe he wouldn't be around to sense them whenever one of them needed to be yanked out.

Or maybe, as much as Dende had little reign over them being together, he hadn't had enough control to determine where to land them. Maybe once they had gotten inside, they had automatically been taken back to the very first memory there was, although surely not one that Vejita himself could consciously recall.

Still.

She hadn't expected to literally be taken back to the day of Vejita's birth. Hell, that really _was _a lifetime, if Dende didn't reappear at any point. What if Dende couldn't get them out at all, even after it was done? What if it all just looped over again?

Oh God—what a terrifying thought. She liked Vejita as much as the next person, but living for the rest of eternity as the man was a nightmare come true.

That couldn't happen though, right?

The first pangs of apprehension hit her hard then.

Maybe she had gone along with this too carelessly. Too recklessly.

Knowing all along that it was a completely blind venture.

She had been confident in herself, sure, and maybe she had been so keen on Gohan's intense worrying these past years that she had gotten too close to the situation to be truly objective about it.

Gohan had been so adamant about the whole thing that it had actually seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now that she was on her own here...

Her resolve foundered a bit.

Worry.

She looked around the room, uneasily, as though the others would suddenly appear at the feel of her anxiety.

No such luck. Still alone.

Goku's words from earlier. 'You don't have to go.' And what had she said?

Damn.

Furrowing her brow and griping away in her head, she finally heaved a sigh and turned her eyes back to the scene before her.

Too late now.

She had come on this venture because she had wanted to, extra years or no.

Vejita had been a dependable figure in the lives of her sons. Not a father, no, certainly not a man that would offer gentle words or a hug like Goku, but he had done one better : he had actually been around. Vejita would never go to Goten or Gohan on his own, but they had always known where to find him.

Goten had gotten a sense of what it was like to have a father by watching Trunks interact with his.

Vejita needed help now. She had heeded the call, although she doubted she would be as much use as Gohan or Goku.

All the same, didn't every little bit count?

She could take this in pretty good stride.

Besides, whatever was happening now was quite interesting.

A father meeting his child for the first time.

And Vejita's feelings were certainly strong enough to override her own if she allowed them to, so she just let herself slip back into that pleasant warm bath of contentment and enjoyed the show.

She could panic later, when everything didn't feel so comfortable.

The king, looking as if he were still in shock, suddenly asked, nervously, "Is he...alright?"

The man on the bed sent him a strange look.

"Of course he is."

The king tilted his head, face full of worry, and then he said, "He's quiet. Should he be so quiet? Are you sure he's alright?"

It was obvious that he was a first-time parent.

Chichi could see the inexperience, in his voice and gestures.

She and Goku had been that way, once.

The king was pale as a sheet, holding up his child with a clammy forehead.

"He's not sick is he?"

The man on the bed gave a weary sigh of exasperation, and said, "Only _you _would complain about a quiet baby. I can't help it that he's not a whiner like his father."

The king was silent, and then, apparently relieved, he drew the baby up to his chest and buried his face in his hair.

Vejita, sleepy and calm, reached out unsteady hands and took fistfuls of his father's hair and tugged, gently.

It was going to take her a little while to get used to feeling what someone else felt; the warmth of a body against her own, and the feel of hair in her hands even as she stood back as an observer.

Beneath that, too, were other issues that she needed to adapt to.

The sense of smell, for one. Heightened beyond anything she had ever considered, she could very clearly smell the king, aromas that she wasn't eloquently gifted enough to describe, and the scent of it was like someone setting off a signal in her brain that this man was a part of her.

Must have been instincts.

And then there was having a tail, and thereby a fifth arm of sorts.

A fascinating sensation.

The language was another.

She had known the second that these two men had started speaking that it was a tongue she had never in her life heard, and yet she understood every word all the same because Vejita understood it.

Must have gotten that ability the minute she set foot in Vejita's head.

The sleepiness started creeping back up, slowly, as the unspoken instincts that lied in Vejita made it clear to her that it was very much safe to do so, since this man would seek to protect rather than harm.

His father.

And hers now, too.

Even as Vejita, she could still say, 'My father, the king.'

The king, gripping the baby in a firm but gentle embrace, suddenly heaved a great sigh and said, rather thickly, "I didn't think...I'd get to see both of you."

Both of you.

It was apparent that the man that sat on the bed was a very important part in all of this, although she didn't quite comprehend yet exactly what his role was.

"You worry too much," he said to the king, deep voice low and tired, and the king stayed silent, apparently unable to speak efficiently.

The part of her that was still _her _was aware, a little sadly, that Goku had just smiled down at Gohan like he had just acquired a new buddy. Something to play with, almost. Goku had viewed Gohan as he might have viewed a brand-new puppy.

Not like a normal father, perhaps.

She tossed the thought aside, and refocused her attention.

It wasn't really Goku's fault...

Not really. He had been little more than a kid himself.

Dropping an apparently arrogant attitude, the man on the bed lowered himself down next to the king and watched him with a fond eye, saying, firmly, "I told you everything would work out alright, didn't I?"

A slow nod.

"Well, then," he said, thumping the king on the back, "Don't worry about it anymore. Look, Vejita wants to go sleep, but you're keepin' him up."

The king pulled back enough to look down, and sure enough, Vejita's black eyes had settled on him, and the expression on his face was clearly that of sleepiness.

Another second of staring, and then the king's tense face relaxed a little and he repeated, in a voice that was very close to awe, "Vejita. Ha."

The baby's tail wrapped around his father's wrist, and then everything faded to black as Vejita drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When she awoke again, Vejita was still cradled in warm arms, and the two men were lying side by side on the bed, the king's hands divided between touching his new son's hair and gripping the man beside of him as if afraid to let go of him.

She found herself lying on the foot of the bed, half-asleep and reluctant to move for anything in the world.

Low voices came in and out.

"...he's got your bangs. The shape of your face, too."

"But everything else is all you! Look at that nose. Huh, I never thought anything that looked like _you _could be so handsome!"

The king winced a bit, and then shook his head, turning his eyes down to meet his son's.

Fingers ran through her hair, and she was content to watch them talk amongst themselves.

The king's brow fell, suddenly, and the tension was back in his face.

"They told me not to expect both of you. Not to get my hopes up. They said you might have been too small to pull through. Him, too. For a while there, I thought..."

He trailed off, although the implication was spoken, and Chichi struggled to comprehend the conversation as Vejita drifted in and out. A sudden movement woke him up a little, as the king shifted his weight on the bed to pull the smaller man into a firm embrace.

"I thought I was going to have to tell them to ring the bells."

The man furrowed his brow and said, testily, "How about you wait until I'm _dead _next time to do that? I think our son handled this whole thing a little more gracefully than _you _did."

Our son.

Huh.

It took a minute for it to sink in, as she struggled to stay awake, and it was clear once and for all that the other man was Vejita's...mother?

Well.

Father?

Other father?

The first thought she had was that she was surely misunderstanding the situation, but in all honesty it was pretty damn clear. Hard to get around it any other way.

It seemed like a complete impossibility, until she realized with a start that these weren't exactly humans she was looking.

Saiyans were different in so many ways. Why should it really surprise her to learn that this was just one of them? She had a _lot _to learn about the Saiyans, and saying to herself 'father number one and father number two' would get old, so for now she would just go with father and mother.

Simpler that way, and it held pretty true. 'Mother' was a word that was denoted for whomever carried a child, she supposed, and not necessarily a feminine adjective.

Whatever they were called didn't really matter now anyway. Vejita just watched them, enjoying the sound of their voices and their warmth, and he knew them as his parents, whether others did or not.

She wondered, suddenly, if Gohan or Goku could have children. Could Vejita?

Strange, to think about.

Bulma was having a field-day right about now.

After a while of the quiet whispering and nuzzling, Vejita became irritated that neither of his parents was paying him any attention, and he reached up with his tail to grab his mother's wrist with a noise of agitation.

They turned to look at him, and the smiles were bright.

Looking at them, Chichi couldn't really seem to remember why she had always imagined the Saiyans to be rather callous beings, having children only to create more soldiers.

To be certain, they all grew up to be soldiers and warriors, she had no illusions about that, but that hadn't necessarily meant that they were not loved along the way.

Where had that come from anyway?

Maybe just assumptions and no attempt to actually ask someone who knew.

At any rate, it was clear that there was no parental lacking here, and Vejita's father was quick to lean down and shower his child with all of the attention he wanted.

She had never really seen Vejita smile in all these years, not _really_, so it was strange and surreal to see his parents doing so.

Happy that he was being doted upon, the baby quickly drifted back into sleep, and right before his eyes slipped shut, a voice whispered in his ear, "You're beautiful."

Darkness.

Comfort.

* * *

The next days flew by.

Then again, being a baby was an incredibly easy task. Even as a Saiyan, where babies were born far more functional than Earthling babies, with hair and tail and baby teeth that were almost too sharp. No milk necessary. As soon as they were out in the world, it seemed, they were ready to go.

Quite literally.

They were adept crawlers the second they were born, and used that ability quite frequently.

Every week that passed, Vejita got a little more active.

Cut her tongue a few times here and there on those damn hypodermic needles that the baby called canines.

By now, it was fairly easy to meld herself and Vejita into one being. Referring to Vejita as Vejita or herself was all one and the same.

She got a little more comfortable with it every day.

So far, everything had been smooth sailing.

The only significant event that happened within the first month was what she could really only describe as a coronation.

It was the first time that Vejita had gone into the outside world.

She drank in the new sights and sounds eagerly, even if everything was limited to what lied in Vejita's memories.

Whenever she walked, sometimes she would come up to a great wall of static; grey and immovable, and she knew that she couldn't pass here or see this because Vejita had never gone there or seen that. The edges of the stage.

She passed through their world like a shadow, and sometimes it still took her aback at how clear it all was. She had envisioned grainy textures and dull colors when it had been spoken about, like those old movies that sometimes came on the television, but it wasn't anything like that.

Vivid and bright, with sounds and smells and taste and everything in between.

It was life, as much as her own outside of this world.

Only this time she was Vejita.

The long corridor they were currently ambling down had windows all down the length of it, and with every one they passed, she could feel a sudden rush of exhilaration within her as Vejita caught sight of the ships streaking across the sky, flashes of blue light across crimson.

Tiny fingers reached out for the windows, as if Vejita thought he would somehow be able to grab them.

It was pleasant, to be a child again and get a reprieve from real life.

She was almost becoming grateful that Dende had dropped them off so far back. More time to prepare themselves as best they could for whatever lied ahead, and certainly a remedy to these past years of stress.

Besides, so much of who a person became was developed in the early years.

To get a sense of the adult, perhaps it was necessary to first meet the child.

The fascination with the incoming ships quickly faded when there was suddenly an audible commotion, and Vejita's dark eyes turned to find the source as he squirmed in his mother's arms, trying to wiggle himself around.

A sudden burst of sunlight forced his prying gaze shut, and it took a moment for the glaring light to die down as his eyes adjusted.

They were outside, on a great balcony.

Her first glance at the world outside the walls.

White buildings on the horizon, melding in with tall, grey trees.

A city.

She quickly realized that down below was a courtyard that seemed to stretch out as far as the eye could see, and it was filled to the brim with people.

The ships that had been streaking in must have been Saiyans returning from purges for what was apparently a very important event.

She couldn't help but feel a little excited.

Capsule Corporation was long gone, and she still had a few more years before everything went to hell, so why not let herself fall into this brief repose?

Who knew; it might be the last she had.

She went over to edge to peer down, and could see that a section of the courtyard was full of armored men who must have made up the Saiyan army.

Vejita looked down at the crowded courtyard with a rather indifferent gaze, not quite as excited as she was, and then he gave a long yawn and buried his face in his mother's chest.

The king said, rather drolly, "Well, at least he's not bawling."

His mother scoffed. "I think he's bored. Guess he's not going to be much of a court-seeker, unlike someone I know."

"He'll grow into it."

"_Please_, I envision him crawling through the palace windows in the middle of the night and sneaking off on liaisons just to make you angry."

The king laughed, and his hand brushed the top of Vejita's head, drawing his attention a bit irritably back to the commotion, and Chichi's smile fell a little.

Whatever they had planned out for themselves would never come to pass.

There would be no rebellious sneaking out of the palace in the future, no arguments between father and son, no ascension to the throne.

They would never see their child grow up.

With that rather depressing thought in her head, she tried to keep her emotional involvement in this to a bare minimum, even though it was hard as hell since the instincts in Vejita were in her too, and so these were her parents as well.

For now.

She turned her eyes back to the event at hand, as a large man had come forward to remove the heavy chain from around the king's neck with formal words.

Vejita's mother was so bristled with pride that he might have been on the verge of explosion.

Chichi watched in fascination as the great crest was then placed over the baby's neck, even though it was nearly bigger than he was, and when the man who was clearly an official began to speak, the crowd below erupted.

What a party.

The prince, after all, was a big deal.

Vejita was celebrated, and quite eagerly. The king was obviously beloved to his people.

The center of all the attention was much less enthusiastic.

Vejita just cast his black eyes down, still clenching his mother, squirming under the heavy chain, and then his gaze narrowed and he was annoyed.

Too damn noisy.

His mother laughed when the official came to remove the crest and Vejita nicked his hand with one of those sharp canines in a subconscious effort to make his irritability known.

The king just smiled.

An hour or so of formality and a great many words she had never even heard in her life, and then the ceremony began to wrap up.

People who were close to the court and the king came up then to see the child and offer their congratulations, and Chichi could feel her heart skip a beat when, after a long line of people, she actually recognized someone.

It had to have been Goku's father.

Had to be—there was no way that resemblance was a coincidence.

Oh, wow. What a strange, yet exhilarating, sight.

To see her father-in-law.

What was his name? Goku had told her once, but she couldn't remember.

The man reached out and took the king's hand in a firm grip, and then he looked down at Vejita with a grand smile and a look of affection that was so similar to Goku's it was almost alarming.

"Glad to see you here, little guy," he said, as he placed a gentle hand on Vejita's head, "We were worried."

A moment of hesitation, and then Goku's father looked up to lock eyes with the king.

"There's rumors flyin' all over the place about him already, you know. Everybody's been talkin' about it. They say that he's the strongest to be born in centuries. They say that he'll be a super Saiyan when he's older and that— "

Whatever Goku's father had been intending to say was harshly interrupted by Vejita's mother, who bared his teeth and barked, "Quiet! Don't say such things, and make sure no one else does, either. You say there are rumors. End them, _now_, before _he _gets wind of them."

Goku's father bowed his head, respectfully and anxiously, and there was a long, awkward silence.

Chichi didn't understand the tension.

_He _who?

The king looked around, trying to alleviate the suddenly foul mood, and asked, "Where's your son?"

Goku's father gave a nervous laugh, playing with Vejita's hands as they gripped his own, and he just said, "Ah, who knows. He comes and goes, like his mother. Probably getting into something he should not be. Like his mother."

"Indeed," the king said, a bit coolly. "Hopefully this one will take after his father, or else the kingdom might be doomed."

Vejita's mother sent him a foul look, and lifted up his chin with a prim sniff, griping, "_Anyone _could have run this kingdom better than _you _have."

Goku's father eyed them a bit warily, but his smile stayed put.

It was clear that both of them were very much in love.

Vejita tried to crawl over to his father, and that short moment of aggressiveness was all but forgotten.

Goku's father had a familiar, pleasant laugh.

Chichi tried her best to keep detached and not let herself get too close to them.

All of them were on borrowed time.

Damn, though, if Vejita's parents didn't make it difficult. When everything within you was telling you to trust them and love them and depend on them, it was hard to do anything but.

Days came and went.

The first year went by so quickly, because all the baby did most of the time was sleep.

It was, however, an opportunity to get to know Vejita's parents and therefore some long-forgotten part of Vejita, and it was a rather fascinating experience from an observer's point of view.

The king was a competent father, surprisingly so both for her idea of a Saiyan and also for being a first-time parent, and he was always around unless something pressing came about. He couldn't seem to tear himself away from his child, and sometimes when he had to attend to urgent issues, he would wrap tiny Vejita in his tail and just cart him along for the ride.

Vejita enjoyed the attention and the new sights.

And then there was Nappa.

Nappa was a constant figure in their lives, and had apparently gone from being a military man to being Vejita's personal protector.

Unless it was in home quarters, wherever Vejita went, Nappa went too.

Nappa had scared the hell out of her the first time she had seen him, as huge and intimidating as he was, but it didn't last for long. He may have been a brute, and he may not have been a genius, but when he held Vejita he was gentle and careful.

It became apparent why he had been entrusted with the task.

Nappa adored the child.

Maybe too much—when he acted as babysitter, Nappa usually gave in to Vejita's every whim and let him do whatever he wanted.

It was apparent that Vejita was spoiled, in every sense.

She couldn't help but wonder, sometimes, what Vejita would have been like if this had been his life, instead of being taken by Frieza as he would be before long.

How different he would have been.

Probably would have smiled a lot more.

Every night, Vejita was passed between his father and his mother, and there had never really been any doubt that the child was very much adored. From there, his mother would take him into his room, set him down on the bed as he lied next to him, and sometimes he would sing.

It surprised her that the Saiyans had lullabies at all. It did not, however, surprise her very much that nearly all of them revolved around the moon and its light.

She had gotten used to the rather guttural language by now, but no matter how many trills or growls it had or how terrifying it sounded when used it anger, it was still breathtakingly beautiful whenever it was uttered in adoration.

When it came to speaking to the child, that was almost always the tone.

Still, these pleasant memories were taken in with a bit of melancholy.

Like a merciful dream that came before waking up again to the cruel world.

She used these early years to build up her own gradual defenses, although whether they would hold or not was yet to be seen.

It wouldn't be long before Vejita was old enough to harness his power, and these loving parents that she had despite herself grown fond of would teach their child to become a very efficient killer.

Then they would die.

The dream wouldn't last much longer.

The gradual yellowing of pages.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** : You guys are so awesome. ;_; ! **B-chan** : All three, though in my head I imagine the term would be a universal thing. Lol. **Lady-Alucard** : Not really, the order is totally random for the most part.

Thanks again for reading, as always. :D

* * *

**Chapter 5**

This planet was his.

Everything and everyone on it was _his_.

Or, at any rate, that was sure as hell how Goku felt most of the time.

If Earthling babies had a terrible twos stage that came and went, then once Saiyan babies developed consciousness they seemed to be in a perpetual state of the terrible twos.

While thoughts and words were not yet present, instincts and feelings were, and, as far as Vejita was concerned, everything in his sight belonged to him.

He was walking now, a little, and once he got a hold of something, it was his.

His parents belonged to him, not the other way around.

The palace? His.

Objects in the room, everything in the hall, the lights hanging from the ceiling, all his.

The trees visible through the windows, the ships coming and going in the sky, his.

Nappa belonged to him.

When he wasn't focused on everything being his, Vejita was quite content just to cause as much destruction as possible. Chewing on things was immensely satisfying, and shredding things apart was even better.

His parents weren't really so appreciative of it.

Well—depending on whose things he was shredding.

The king put a stop to it no matter what, but Vejita's mother usually only cared about his own belongings being ripped apart. If Vejita happened to be decimating things that belonged to the king, then his mother just raised up a brow and let him do as he would with a careless, "Meh."

Once Vejita got riled up it was pretty hard to get him to calm down again, but Nappa had finally found a way to do it rather efficiently.

Had to give the big oaf at least that much.

A gentle grip of Vejita's tail, and Nappa would haul him up into the air, letting him dangle upside down, chubby little arms flailing around as he tried to carry on ripping things apart, but after a while Vejita would get dizzy and find the upside down world far more fascinating as the destructive instincts calmed.

When snarling turned into cooing and the tiny fingers started to grasping for the floor rather than Nappa's throat, he was finally set down, and usually he went back to sleep.

Days came and went.

Daily life.

Unaware beings going about their business, having no clue as to the fate that soon awaited them.

Goku had accepted being alone quite quickly, and he wasn't really sure what was going on with the others or if Dende had really meant to take them this far, but he was glad that it had happened.

The others probably weren't so enthusiastic about this extra time.

He couldn't get enough of it.

To be able to walk on his home planet, to be able to see his dead race in action, and to be able to smell it and hear it and _feel_ it—beyond anything he could have ever put into description.

To see his father.

To see Vejita in moments that he would have otherwise never been privy to, all of it, elicited feelings within him he hadn't actually been aware he had at all.

Homesickness sometimes crept up upon him now, stirring underneath whatever Vejita was feeling.

Not for that cozy little living room back on Earth.

A sort of subdued and resigned longing for the real home he had never had. He was fully aware that his time here was extremely limited, creeping to a close with every day that passed, and somehow that thought had become rather heartbreaking.

He didn't want it to end.

Home.

Another sort of longing came up sometimes, too.

He missed Vejita.

The real one.

Come to think, he had been missing him for a long, long time.

Gohan had been all but baring his teeth for so long now (whether he had been aware of it or not) that it had been a rather unpleasant sensation to be around any of them, and, like always, it was just easier for him to stay away and keep his distance. And the fact that he could scarcely be in the same room with Vejita without Gohan's shoulders squaring out and his chest puffing and his nose crinkling was a pretty good deterrent.

A fight with Gohan over something that neither of them comprehended was the last thing he wanted.

It had all been a misunderstanding.

Gohan liked to think that he knew everything, but he knew nothing.

Not a damn thing.

Gohan had never balanced on the brink of consciousness, awake and yet dreaming, hand in hand with a man that had suddenly become a part of him in a way that no words could ever really explain.

Gohan had never stood before Vejita as an enemy and looked up at him and realized that he was staring at something that scared the hell out of him and yet was somehow everything he had ever looked for at the same time.

Gohan had never spent his entire life feeling as if nothing was right, only to wake up one day and realize that there was really someone else out there in the universe that could understand him, someone who could smell what he smelled, someone who could look at him and see him as just a reflection of themselves, someone who, in a sense, _was _him.

Two of a kind.

When Vejita was around, it was as if something within him woke up from a long sleep and the world was cast into a different light where everything suddenly made sense. A lifetime of not knowing who he was or what he was or why he felt so different from everyone else became a thing of the past. Thoughts and urges he had repressed for years because he had thought they were wrong were suddenly perfectly acceptable.

When Vejita was around, he didn't feel so _lost_.

Lost.

And that just made it hurt so much more to know that Vejita hated him.

It was just easier to stay away.

Only around Vejita did he feel right, and yet his being around Vejita seemed to be what agitated Vejita more than anything else.

It hurt.

Better just to avoid him, and make it so much easier for both of them.

If he didn't see Vejita, if he was far enough away not to smell him or sense him, then the bright world of understanding faded back into misty normalcy, where he was lost and yet safer all the same.

Vejita hated him.

He didn't know why. He didn't understand.

He had little choice but to suppress the want and need to be around Vejita to spare himself undue amounts of pain.

Nothing was worse than staring at something you desperately wanted and couldn't have.

Especially when you didn't even _know_ what you wanted.

Every day, the only thing on his mind was the very thing he shouldn't have been thinking about at all.

He had started avoiding Chichi, too, because when she pressed up against him from behind, wrapping arms around his neck and brushing lips against his ear, it was frightening almost at how quickly he envisioned someone else doing the same.

Pretending, almost, that it was someone else.

Wrong of him, surely.

After all these years, it had just gotten easier to avoid it altogether.

The longer he went without seeing Vejita, the less he saw him in his mind.

Life was simpler that way.

He didn't understand why Vejita just kept getting worse. Hadn't he wanted him to stay away?

And then Gohan had come up with this idea, and the first thing that had crossed Goku's mind had been, 'No way, that's not right.'

If anyone had ever gone through his head like this, he couldn't even find words for how angry he would have been; how betrayed.

Doing it to the man that he valued most was wrong.

He was absolute.

Until he had remembered, with a pang in his heart, that Vejita already hated him to the point of seething and trying to humiliate him in front of everyone.

How could going along with it have made Vejita hate him any more than he already did?

He wanted to see why Vejita was the way he was, and he wanted to be inside Vejita's head so that he would know, once and for all, why Vejita _hated _him so much.

Besides, Gohan was going, and it had for some reason made _him _want to seethe at the thought of Gohan knowing Vejita better than he did.

Simple jealousy.

Childishness.

His reasons for going may not have been the purest, but he was fairly certain that Gohan's weren't, either.

Then there was the little voice in the back of his head that said, 'Well, if Vejita wants to kill you for it, you can always remind him that it was Gohan's idea.'

Maybe Vejita would hate Gohan more.

He knew that they were thoughts he shouldn't have had in the first place, but they were there all the same, and no amount of trying would make them go away.

They all thought he was a saint, perhaps, but sometimes the things that crossed his mind were downright unholy. He'd never voice them and he'd go to his grave before he acted upon them, but he couldn't deny to himself that there were times he damn well wanted to.

When Gohan was glaring after him like he had done something wrong, he just wanted nothing more than to whirl around and snarl, '_What_? What is it? What the hell do you _want _from me?'

He didn't.

He lowered his eyes, pursed his lips, and just walked outside instead.

When they were all together, he couldn't even take a single step in any direction without suddenly smelling that strange aroma that came wafting toward him. He didn't know exactly what it was, or what to call it, but he knew it well enough to know that it came from an aggressive Gohan.

Could Gohan smell his anxiety?

Weakness?

He had gone his entire life thinking that his sense of smell had been some kind of fluke, or maybe something that was mostly in his head, but now that he was suddenly Vejita all of those scents and aromas that had fascinated him before were a completely normal thing.

It wasn't in his head.

He could smell everything, and those jolts of unease around Gohan hadn't been him being paranoid.

Gohan was aggressive and belligerent around him, and he could _smell _it.

He was glad, in all honestly, to be by himself.

He was glad that Gohan wasn't here with him.

He could stop pretending, for just this once.

A lifetime lived as it would have been if he hadn't bumped his head. He could finally allow himself to indulge in the life of a Saiyan, without any blood on his hands.

His true self, as he was meant to be.

He wasn't _crazy_.

He was a Saiyan.

Being Vejita now was the proof.

Those thoughts and urges were normal.

Not crazy.

And God, _oh _God, he hoped that when they were all together again back in that living room that the others would finally stop expecting him to act like an Earthling when he wasn't.

That they could understand Vejita, and therefore apply everything they learned to him as well.

He hoped that they could understand him better.

Hell, he hoped he could understand _himself _better.

He lived this new life eagerly.

It was incredible, even though Vejita was still too small to actually comprehend the instincts within him; they were loud and clear to Goku, and it was as if a great, heavy curtain had been lifted up.

He could _see _for the first time.

It was tempting to allow himself just to become Vejita and forget his own self completely, but he forced himself to keep aware and alert so that he could learn as much as he could about the both of them.

There was no day that passed, no hour, no minute, that he regretted.

Not one.

As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as too much time spent being around Vejita, even more so when it came to something as intimate as this venture was proving to be.

Vejita had always seen him as a Saiyan, as the other half of the mirror.

He had always been fascinated by Vejita in turn, and now the mystery had fled.

He _was_ Vejita.

Vejita's mind was his own. Vejita's instincts were his own. Vejita's emotions and feelings were his, too.

It was enthralling.

For the first time in his life, he was somewhere he truly belonged.

Even if the sensation had to be stolen from another, it was still potent enough to pretend it was really his own.

So when Vejita looked at his parents and sensed them and loved them, Goku did too.

They were his now, after all.

He had never had the chance to know and adore his father and mother, so he just usurped Vejita's instead and allowed himself to feel for them as he would his own. It was an incredible feeling, to be fawned over and constantly in the center of loving attention.

Would his real parents have treated him the same as Vejita's treated him? He hadn't been born into royalty, and so far he had had no insight into the life of lower classes.

After a while, he decided to stop thinking about it and focus on what was rather than what might have been.

_His _parents.

Goku got to know them.

Vejita may have looked almost exactly like his father, but it became obvious very quickly who he took after. Whenever Goku was around Vejita's mother, it was always with a great sense of familiarity, as if he had met him somewhere before, because, essentially, he had.

Vejita would be just like his mother one day.

Proud and stubborn, not afraid to say what he thought of someone. Abrasive and detached but still very capable of moments of gentleness when he felt so inclined.

Goku watched him move about, and saw Vejita in him.

It was sad that Vejita hadn't been able to keep his parents.

Well.

Life went on.

With every day that passed, the child was growing.

New things.

Goku stood back in the corner, arms crossed above his chest and smiling away as Vejita's mother tried very, very hard to get him to say his first word.

The things whirring through his head could never be explained, as the child tried to process the notion of forming speech for himself, trying his best to imitate what his mother said even though controlling his tongue and throat were still very foreign feelings.

Every time he got close, his mother's face lit up and a great smile broke out, as well as much encouragement, and it was the praise alone that spurred the child on.

Goku missed the days when such simple things had been the focus of his own life. When everything had been so much easier for him.

He had forgotten how wide and kind the world was when you were a child.

Growing up had frightened him, back then.

Vejita, sitting on the bed in front of his mother and waving his arms as he tried to speak, still had a way to go before the hardships of real life came crashing down on top of him.

At present, the child's battle was with his own language.

Persistence, however, had always been Vejita's strongest point, and apparently it was his mother's, too.

Vejita's mother was absolutely determined that the first word Vejita ever said to his father was one the king would never forget.

And, as usual, he got his way, and the look of absolute success was apparent upon his face when he set little Vejita down in front of his father later on that night and prodded, "Go on! Talk to your daddy! Say it again!"

The king's eyes widened in excitement, and Goku was excited, too.

"He spoke?"

Vejita's mother just smiled, and turned Vejita around so that he was facing his father.

"Come on, you can do it! Say it again!"

The child took unsteady, wobbly steps towards the king, looking up as his father knelt down in front of him with a wide, breathless smile, and then Vejita finally opened his mouth.

"Bastard!"

The king's mouth fell open in shock, and Vejita tottered back over to his mother, leaping back up into his arms.

Goku was laughing, and it was a wonderful sensation after so long.

Vejita's mother lifted him up in the air, holding him under his arms, and cooed, adoringly, "That's right, Vejita! That's right, your daddy is a bastard! Yes he is!" Nose nuzzled nose. "You're so smart, yes you are!"

Vejita squealed his pride in himself.

The king pulled himself back up and just stood there, stunned, and then he heaved a sigh and hung his head in defeat, muttering aloud, "Dear God, he's gonna be just like you."

Vejita's mother puffed up proudly, still nuzzling his child's nose, and threw back, "You say that as if it's a bad thing!"

Groaning, the king buried his face wearily in his hands.

"I can't handle two of you, I really can't!"

Vejita played with his mother's hair, oblivious to the parental arguing and enjoying the sound of their voices, and Goku wasn't surprised at all that that had been Vejita's first word.

He spent the rest of the day smiling.

It only crossed his mind for a brief second that he had not been around to hear Gohan's first word.

...wonder what it had been?

Ah, probably 'mama'.

After all, Chichi had been the one around all the time.

Thinking about it sometimes though...

He watched Vejita's father, so attached to his son and constantly in sight, and wondered if maybe he could have done a little better. He had tried, he really had; it had just been a lot harder than he had always imagined it would be.

He hadn't really known what to do, and Chichi had been strong enough to where he hadn't really felt compelled to devote himself every hour of the day.

The little voice in the back of his head was quick to point out that Vejita's mother was strong, too, but that didn't keep the king from being involved in every aspect of childrearing.

Well—he hadn't had parents to show him how to be one.

It was easier not to blame himself.

Too late, as it was.

Other matters were more important to him now.

Learning about his people and his culture, more than any other.

Saiyan himself, pure-blooded at that, and totally in the dark.

How pitiful.

Being thrust into this new world made him realize how much he had adapted to the life of an Earthling, even though he sometimes felt the farthest thing from. This wasn't the Earth, and these were not the same kind of people.

These were Saiyans, and their traditions and mannerisms were like nothing he had ever witnessed back on the planet he had called home.

When Vejita was old enough to walk well enough, exploring became a big part of his life, and Goku was able to learn and observe more with every passing day.

The Saiyans were, from what he had seen so far, incredibly social creatures. They were always traveling in groups, always keen to stand in close proximity to familiar faces, and if they weren't speaking then they were always communicating in other ways; scents, and gestures.

The tail was a Saiyan's most valuable possession, for more than just transformation.

Since Vejita was still too young to voice effectively what he was feeling, he used his tail instead, and it was like a light bulb had lit up over Goku's head.

Balance was improved with the aid of a tail, creating agility and reflexes that were similar to those of a cat, and it could be used to communicate when words just didn't suffice.

When Vejita was frustrated, his tail fluffed and bristled, and Goku was aware of the scent it omitted then, as well as when the child was angry.

Scents he had become familiar with lately for Gohan, but there were others, too.

Vejita's mother smelled different to him than Vejita's father did, although he couldn't quite figure out why, as Vejita didn't seem to be aware of any such thing yet.

Perhaps when Vejita was older and more conscious of himself, Goku would finally get the explanations he had long wanted about these pleasant but irritating aromas.

Beyond scent, the sight of a tail's movements was vocal as well. Thrashing in a certain way signaled discomfort, swaying in another meant interest, and too many others.

He couldn't really explain it so much as he could feel it.

How _frustrating_; he missed his tail.

It was like trying to watch a movie that was in another language; he could see and hear, and he grasped the main plot, but so many other important details were passing before him without comprehension.

All he could do was try to access his own lost instincts to guide him, but they never really showed themselves when he was actually looking for them.

Lost, in yet another way.

He would have to be patient.

Weeks came and went, and from that one first word grew many others.

Speaking was a little easier every day, and when Vejita was finally proficient in the art of the spoken language, he developed clearer thoughts and it was less of a mystery to Goku as to what was going on in his head.

For the most part.

Melding his adult self with the childish mind of Vejita was rather disconcerting at times.

Trying to sort the incomplete thoughts and vague understandings into viable information could sometimes be a little annoying. Trying to interrogate a child, as it was. Some of the things they came up with were downright bizarre.

Funny, though.

Nappa was constantly bombarded with strange and sometimes embarrassing questions (the dreaded 'where do babies come from?' was one of them), and it was a little fascinating to Goku, after clashing with this dummy briefly in battle, to see how red his face could get whenever the child asked him something that wasn't really suitable for a guardian to answer. Most of the time he distracted Vejita easily by changing the subject, and if that didn't work, then he would just say, 'Ask your mother,' knowing that by the time Vejita's mother returned the question would have been forgotten altogether.

Consciousness and personality were developing.

The smallest traces of the Vejita he had known began to emerge.

Stubbornness, perhaps an over-inflated sense of his own mortality, and beneath that the seriousness and intelligence.

Goku remembered Gohan at this age, always laughing and smiling and crying, scared of everything and never wanting to leave his mother's arms.

Vejita was scared of nothing, and though he laughed and smiled when he felt like it, he didn't cry and always wanted to explore, always observing his surroundings and always thinking. He didn't speak all that much, not in comparison to normal motor-mouth children, but his mind was always whirring, and Goku noticed that he spoke to himself more than he did to others.

Already becoming a bit of a smartass, like his mother.

Certainly petulant.

That being said, a child was only a child, and no matter how much that developing personality was creeping up, he could still fall into bouts of complete exhilaration and sometimes spent hours tearing up and down the halls as though on a sugar-rush.

And, no matter how proud and self-reliant he was, he still crawled up into his mother's tail whenever he could, and he would never refuse a moment of being coddled by his father.

Little kids talked big, but they were still kids.

Vejita was no different.

Goku watched as Vejita puffed out his chest fearlessly to wreak havoc on the palace, but when the king reprimanded him, it was quite fascinating to be able to feel the way his heart raced and his veins flooded with adrenaline as anxiety set in.

Looking at Vejita, always so impassive, was nothing.

Feeling it was another story entirely.

So much could be hidden by someone like Vejita.

How many times had he misjudged Vejita's feelings and intentions because of his own inability to comprehend what was going on beneath the surface?

Probably too many to count.

If Vejita had always been an expert at bluffing and even better at pretending, then he had learnt it from his mother, who could have been a carbon-copy of his son in personality.

Goku liked to watch Vejita and his mother interact.

It was still a strange concept to him, the Saiyan ways of reproduction, and it had taken him a long time to shake off the ideal that had been imprinted into his head from Earth. To see a family like this one, and compare it to his own...

Nothing had _ever_ felt right.

He sometimes looked at himself now and thought of his family, and even though he knew it was wrong he still wondered what it would be like if he could have had a Saiyan family instead.

If it would feel so much more satisfying.

Those words that Vejita had uttered to him that day so long ago back in the real world—he remembered every one.

He hadn't slapped Vejita because he had thought he was being wrongly accused; his hand had lashed out because he had felt vulnerable, and threatened. Insecure. Nervous and jittery.

Because it was true.

He would deny it, and he tried to tell himself that it _wasn't_ true, but obviously it was because otherwise the words wouldn't have buried themselves there under his skin like that.

Maybe it was true, but even so...

Couldn't any of them understand that he wasn't like them?

Vejita should have understood him more than anyone else, and yet it was as if there was a barrier between them.

Goku sometimes stood in the corner at night, when Vejita's father and mother were together in those rare moments, lying next to each other on the bed as their son played on the floor, and in those times he tried to dull Vejita's feelings completely so that he could try to imagine what it would be like to be the king.

To be so in love with someone who understood him in every possible way. To be able to be himself and know that it wouldn't matter. To have someone in his arms that was as strong as he was, and in every sense meant to be there. Someone who could smell him as potently as he could them.

To have a family that belonged to _him_, not the other way around.

He didn't know why.

It didn't matter, anyway; numbing Vejita out was an impossible task, and he was forced to draw his attention away from the proud king back down to the child.

Vejita was growing by the day.

Maybe he was, too.

* * *

Goku had always considered Vejita a loner.

One of those men who liked to do things on their own and who always preferred to be alone.

Maybe that had been another assumption of his that was wrong.

As it was now, Vejita was never alone, not for a second.

If not his parents, then Nappa was there, and often times trusted members of court were always around him to act as caretakers when his mother or father was busy.

Never alone.

As the prince, he was adored and exceedingly popular, perhaps more so than his father was. Goku wondered if it was because they saw him as a savior, the one who would grow up to become a super Saiyan and free them from the shackles of their tyrant.

Maybe they loved him just because he was stronger than they were.

Maybe they expected him to reign even better than his father did.

Whenever little Vejita walked down the halls, Nappa at his side, everyone that passed him swept themselves down onto their knees in respect, and Vejita loved the attention, and came to expect it.

He loved walking about.

The great, winding halls of the palace were a source of endless amusement for the child, as his mother would often intersect him within it to play little games of cat and mouse. Goku watched as Vejita's mother would come around a corner in surprise to initiate a game, and Vejita's hair and tail would bristle up like a cat as he leapt back, turning on his heel to scamper off down another corridor.

He always used the same passageways, out of habit, and his mother knew every single one of them but always let the child win anyway, sitting put and waiting for him to come pouncing up from behind.

Letting Vejita win was fun for the both of them, it seemed.

Sometimes, when he wasn't busy, the king would engage in these chases around the halls, but unlike Vejita's mother he never allowed Vejita to outsmart him.

As far as the king was concerned, every game was for learning, not fun.

Never too young to acquire new skills.

It was clear to Goku who Vejita had acquired his tactical skills from.

Vejita skidded around a corner, and it was always into his father's waiting arms.

Crying out in surprise whenever his father snatched him up, he always struggled, happily, and asked, "How'd you find me?"

His father just held him up, looking his son adoringly in the eyes, and answered, teasingly, "Pattern recognition."

Vejita would just blink back, but even though he didn't yet understand the words, he quickly realized that his father caught him because he always ran down the same halls in the same directions.

Barely four, and Vejita was already smart enough to change up his routine and outwit his father.

Goku smiled the first time that he crept up on his father from behind and leapt on him, crying, "Got you!"

The king just let him tackle him to the floor, smiling, and ruffled his hair.

Vejita loved his mother, but he was absolutely enamored with his father.

Fascinated and awed, and there was nothing in the world that Vejita liked more than the scent of his father. Nothing more satisfying than looking up at his father and being able to feel him. Nothing safer than his father's arms.

The king.

Vejita's father taught him to be smart.

His mother taught him to be strong.

The child wasn't yet in complete control of his power, but he was working on it, as his mother tried very hard to teach him the basics of combat, with a gentle hand.

Vejita was a natural, of course, so most things were learned with the first lesson.

Couldn't fly yet, but he didn't need to.

Goku had been a fighter his entire life, but it was still an exhilarating experience to be Vejita when it came to battle; to feel so much lighter on his feet, and to be more agile than he himself had ever been. It terms of strength Vejita had always been beneath him after that first clash, but he made up for it other fields. Just the way his mind worked, the way he let his instincts lead him, the way his body moved in accordance, was more than enough to suffice.

Play-fights with his mother were already incredibly invested, and Vejita gave every bit of himself to his efforts and strategies.

Goku couldn't wait to truly get a feel for Vejita's abilities once he was older.

Every night, after a long day of exertion, Vejita's mother would lie next to him on the bed, nose pressing into his son's as they stared at each other, and he always uttered words of adoration.

Vejita loved being loved, as it was, and his tail thumped up and down against the bed contentedly.

A warm hand always ran over his cheek until he fell asleep.

Although it was something he would never have believed could be true, Goku had _never _felt as loved as he did then as Vejita.

How strange.

The feeling was alarmingly foreign.

Chichi had loved him, he knew that, but maybe he had held himself back to the point of where feeling something this strongly had been impossible. Maybe he just hadn't given himself completely to her for the sensation to be so potent.

It was amazing, how much of your own view of life could be shattered by living as someone else.

It was addictive.

This entire world, this life, was addictive.

Maybe he had gotten so attached to the present that he had forgotten that he was actually still in the past.

And in such a past.

Goku had let his guard down a long time prior, even though he knew he shouldn't have.

That made it all the more alarming when it finally happened.

A day that started out as any other.

The child had gone about his business, bothering Nappa and amusing himself with whatever he could, and Goku had thought nothing of it then.

Until the evening, at any rate, when his mother came looking for him.

He was sitting in a foyer with Nappa, who was teaching him a few techniques that the military was fond of using, when the door opened up and his mother stepped inside.

Nappa was sent swiftly off, and Vejita stood up straight, anticipating the usual words of parental fondness that he was used to.

None came.

Instead, Vejita's mother, looking rather pale and dazed, reached out and grabbed Vejita's hand and began to tug him towards the bedroom.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and weak.

"Come on. You have to get dressed."

"For what?"

No response.

Goku followed behind them, his own senses telling him that something was certainly amiss, but Vejita was hardly aware of it, thinking that something exciting was going to happen as it usually did whenever he had to dress elaborately.

The child was smiling.

His mother was not, and Goku wasn't, either.

Not right.

Shedding his normal clothes to pull on his armor, Vejita's tail just shuddered back and forth in jittery anticipation, hardly aware of his somber mother behind. He jumped up on one foot to pull on a boot, and then the other, and his mother came up to clasp the royal cloak onto his armor.

It was then, his mother kneeling before him and suddenly in close proximity, that Vejita finally realized that he looked strange.

Tense and pale.

Vejita's jitteriness died down, and he stood obediently still as his mother fixed up his clothes.

Finally, he asked, "What's wrong?"

His mother glanced up, pupils dilated with what might have been panic, and yet he suddenly tried to smile as he tidied his son's cape, responding, "Don't worry about it. We're just... Someone wants to meet you."

"Me?"

Vejita's tail swished in excitement, and he smiled as his mother's hands fell down onto his shoulders.

"Who is it?"

Vejita's mother just pursed his lips and stayed silent, and Vejita picked up on his distress, tail going limp as anxiety replaced enthusiasm.

Unease.

Goku stood there beside them, and whatever anticipation the child was feeling could never be compared to his own dread.

Somehow, he knew exactly who it was that was coming to visit.

It made his stomach twist, even though he had known all along that it would come to this sooner or later.

He had hoped, all the same, that Frieza would still be further off than this.

Coulda gone the rest of his life, and this one too, without seein' that face again.

There was a long moment of silence, as Vejita's mother just knelt there and stared at the child, as if everything within him was screaming to go on a rampage, but in the end he just stood up and took Vejita's hand in a death-grip.

"Come on."

Goku didn't want to go.

He tried to stay put, planting his feet stubbornly on the floor, but it was no use. As soon as Vejita walked through that door and into the hall, he found himself right there beside of them, dragged out by forces beyond his control. He couldn't stay behind, even if he wanted to, so Goku just clenched his teeth and walked at the child's other side.

By now, he wasn't sure whose feelings were whose.

Both he and Vejita were nervous and fidgety.

His mother was walking like a ghost.

As if it were the end of the world.

To them, perhaps it was.

The first thing that Vejita saw, when they came out into the courtyard, was his father, standing still and tense, speaking.

The next thing he saw was his father's tail, coiled neatly around his waist and yet completely bristled. Every last hair stood up on end, and Vejita contemplated that that was strange, as was the scent of aggression, and maybe he would have focused on it a little more if he hadn't turned his head then and saw _him_.

Goku was the one who shuddered, not the child.

Old memories came rushing to the surface, and for a while there he was tempted to sink completely into Vejita's childish ignorance so that he wouldn't have to worry about it as much.

He didn't, in the end, and clung to himself.

Frieza.

Vejita took wide steps over to his father at his mother's prodding, coming to a halt at the king's side as his mother hung back. A warm hand dropped firmly down onto his shoulder, almost protectively, and Vejita cast dark eyes to the stranger standing there before him.

The first time that Vejita ever saw Frieza.

There was no fear. Only curiosity, and when Frieza came up to him and looked him up and down, Vejita just stared back and tilted his head as he took in the strange creature.

He wasn't scared. He didn't need to be; his father was right next to him.

The aroma of reassurance and safety.

His father's voice made him look up, and pay attention.

"The prince."

Frieza smirked, and glided forward a bit more.

The scent of the stranger was unpleasant; it reminded him of icy water and dead grass. Mud.

"Well, he's tinier than I had imagined."

The voice was as uneasy on his ears as the scent was on his nose, but he stood obediently still all the same, because his father had not yet given him permission to speak.

From behind, Vejita's mother bared his teeth, a little, but before he could say anything the king had spoken again.

"He's just a child, as I said. I don't know what any rumors have been saying, but as you can see, Lord Frieza, he's clearly no threat."

"I hardly think any of _you _could ever be considered a _threat_," Frieza responded, rather pretentiously, and at the demeaning words and tone Vejita's mother became so furious that he had to whirl around just to keep himself in check.

Goku couldn't blame him—if it had been Gohan being studied, Chichi would have flown off the handle long before and started a war, and his own agitation was hard to contain.

"All the same," Frieza carried on, sure by now that he had everyone's full attention, "I don't like rumors. They give men strange ideas, wouldn't you agree?"

The king, shifting uneasily, pursed his lips and stayed wisely silent.

Vejita had no clue what the hell was goin' on, so it was surely his own hatred and anger that he was feeling. He had forgotten how strongly he could feel such things, but Frieza had done a good job of bringing it out like no one else.

So Goku just clenched his fists and furrowed his brow and watched, as Frieza took another long hard look at the child and then waved his hand in dismissal.

In a second, Vejita's mother had snatched his son up and was pulling him back, and Goku was privy to no further conversation between the king and Frieza as Vejita was taken out of sight as well as ear-shot.

He was glad.

He couldn't really bear to stomach what it must have been like for the king at that moment, having to negotiate with a tyrant over the future of his child.

And for what? Some stupid rumors?

A couple of tired Saiyans speaking in hushed tones about a savior?

He couldn't really have fathomed what it would have been like to be powerless and to know that one wrong word could put the thing that you loved the most at risk, so Goku let himself bask a little in Vejita's incomprehension to take the edge off of his own twisting stomach.

That one little meeting was a catalyst for everything to come.

The warm wind that blew before the storm.

How suddenly everything could change.

Yesterday, he had been happy and content.

Nothing would be the same.

Goku walked beside of them, knowing that he was leaving something of himself behind.

More than anything else, Vejita wanted to ask his mother who the stranger was and what he wanted, but his mother's stalking gait and curling lip and furiously lashing tail deterred him from opening his mouth.

He just stayed silent, and let his mother lead him into the bedroom, where he was picked up and set down rather firmly upon the bed.

Goku could feel every bit of his discomfort.

Hands yanked his boots off, and then raised up to unclasp his cape.

Only his mother's hands were shaking so badly that the clasps were suddenly too much damn trouble, and Vejita shrank back a bit when it was just ripped off instead. There was a short, thick silence, as his mother held the torn cape in his hands, and then he fell backwards onto the floor, pushing his face into the fabric to stifle the cry of frustration.

Vejita didn't know what was wrong, so he didn't know what to do.

His mother frightened him when he was angry.

Seconds that felt like hours, as his mother struggled to gather himself, and then Vejita realized that it would be better just to undress himself.

He did so, keeping a wary distance from his mother, and when he had set aside his gloves and put his armor back in the dresser, clad again in his regular garments, arms had suddenly gripped him up, and he was put back on the bed.

Goku's heart raced at the little burst of panic, and knew that Vejita was scared because he still didn't understand what was going on.

As far as he knew, he had done something wrong and his mother was angry with _him_.

The sands were shifting now.

And for the first time then, Goku was suddenly regretting these extra years.

Suddenly, he didn't want to be here at _all_.

He wanted to go home.

They sat together on the bed, Vejita clenched tightly in his mother's arms, and the child felt no comfort as he usually did in such a position.

Fear.

The scent of it was all over, and it was creeping up on him.

Incomprehension and worry.

"Why are you so scared?" Vejita asked, suddenly, finding the courage to open his mouth, and his mother clenched him all the tighter.

His chest hurt at the pressure.

Or, hell, maybe that wasn't Vejita at all.

Maybe it was _his _heart that was aching.

Goku couldn't tell.

Finally, his mother found his voice again, and said, "Vejita, you have to promise me something. The creature you met today, you have to promise me that you won't ever listen to anything he says. He lies. Everything he says is a lie. You have to promise me that you won't ever believe anything he tells you."

Vejita looked up then, meeting his mother's eyes, and was frightened by the look on his face.

Ferocity.

"Why would I have to listen to him? You'll be there with me if he comes back, wont you?"

A twist of his mother's face, and then hands were gripping his tiny shoulders so tightly that it hurt, and he was given a shake.

"Promise me! Promise me now, Vejita, promise what I asked! Promise that no matter what he says, you won't believe a word! Promise!"

"Okay," the child conceded, alarmed and hurt, "I promise."

And just like that, the fury in his mother's eyes turned into sadness, and he gripped his child in a firm embrace, nearly bursting into tears as he buried his face in Vejita's hair.

Vejita sat there on the bed, and didn't understand what he had done wrong.

Clouds.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N **: As always, thanks for reading. You guys sure do know how to flatter a girl. XD **B-chan **: Nah. My greatest weakness is being creative. If I can get away without making up a name, I will do everything in my power to do so. Lol. I'm dull as a rock.

These chapters just keep getting longer and longer. :/ Sorry! I forget sometimes that I'm long-winded and boring. DX

* * *

**Chapter 6**

He may not have known what was going on, but that didn't mean he was just going to sit there and not do anything about it.

Vejita was determined to figure out why his parents were suddenly acting so strange, and he didn't care what radical measures he had to resort to in order to get to the bottom of it all.

Well, as radical as a small child could come up with.

Gohan could say with assurance that Vejita was considerably less dastardly as a child. Cunning as always, but with much less malice.

For now.

His intention was still to manipulate and get what he wanted, but in this instance all Vejita wanted was for his mother and his father to stop walking past each other without so much as a word, as if they were strangers.

He wanted his mother to stop saying terrible things about his father.

He wanted his father to stop looking so _sad_.

Two long weeks had passed since the mysterious creature had come to visit, and ever since then everything had been strange and tense between his mother and father.

Gohan was keen to the feeling, knowing full-well what it was like to be caught up in the middle of warring parents.

Still, Vejita was determined to make everything the way it had been before.

One little visit...

Why were they acting so strangely?

These days were exceedingly unpleasant for Gohan. To be quite aware himself of exactly what was happening and why 'his' parents were going about like phantoms, and then to have the greater half of his mind caught up in the frustration of the child that was Vejita.

Wandering about in the dark as something stirred in the shadows.

Gohan had the light-switch in his hand, but couldn't flip it on because he couldn't communicate with the child to explain to him what was happening.

All he could do was stand back and watch things unfold.

It was all the more frustrating because Gohan had wanted to embark on this journey because he was _tired _of just sitting back and watching.

He was tired of having to just wait and see. He had wanted to _do_ something.

And yet, here he stood again, arms crossed and leaning back against the wall wearily as he watched Vejita sit on the bed and stare out of the window, mind whirring away as he struggled to fix the pieces of the puzzle together.

Vejita watched his mother and father all of the time, observing their interactions and understanding them on a base level, and it had always been apparent to him that their arguing, although constant, was nothing less than affectionate.

They loved to argue with each other, because it was their way of showing affection. So it frightened him now, this sudden coldness. They didn't even tease each other anymore.

Had he done something wrong?

Gohan wondered if he had been this way as a small child, fretting over every interaction between his mother and father. He couldn't remember much of life at home from those early years, and he was glad.

He'd been the 'kid' for so long around the others that being a child again was rather detestable. Ignorant, naïve and vulnerable, too young to understand the adults.

Even though he was Vejita now, being a child still made him feel exposed and defenseless. No one had ever taken him seriously as a kid, and here he was again, living life all over as the one who was too young to be useful.

Granted, as a prince and a full-blooded Saiyan, Vejita was taken a bit more seriously than he ever had been, but all the same he was still kept in the dark.

Vejita's frustration might have been his own.

He had been irritable ever since Frieza had shown his ugly face, so it was more than likely that all of this frustration and anger he had been feeling had just been himself.

At any rate, whatever was going on between his parents, Vejita wasn't going to just sit back and take it.

Every time he heard his mother mutter under his breath, '_That man _makes me crazy,' Vejita could feel his patience waning more and more.

_That man_.

That was what his mother called his father now.

Vejita went to his father, and just got a half-hearted smile and a quick, 'Something wrong?'

A dumb question, even to the child.

Of course there was something wrong, but they wouldn't tell him anything.

Vejita just looked up at his father with pursed lips and furrowed brow, and asked, 'Why is mother so mad at you?'

The king averted his eyes, looking straight ahead, and responded, vaguely, 'I did something stupid. That's why.'

Not an answer. And besides, his mother was always saying that his father did stupid things, so why was this any different?

Gohan watched as Vejita went back and forth between them with questions, and all he got was more and more confused.

Frustration.

Why did parents always try to make their children feel better through means of deceit? Gohan would be glad, more than the child, when adolescence was reached. When he would be taken seriously.

Vejita was tired of being jerked around, too.

They wanted to play like that? Alright.

He was game.

If they didn't want to speak to each other and if they didn't want to tell him why, then that was fine.

He'd just fix it all himself.

One day, as he sat there on the bed and his mother was running careless fingers through his hair, Vejita took note of his mother's mood, saw the time was right, and decided to commence his operation. Looking up at his mother in the reflection cast by the mirror before them, he opened his mouth and said, out of the blue, "Father told me you're the prettiest on the whole planet. Is that true?"

A short silence, and Vejita's mother looked at him for a moment as their eyes met in the mirror, and Vejita could see his face softening when he asked, lowly, "Did he say that?"

Vejita nodded his head, and Gohan smiled.

Apparently, Vejita's knack for using words to get what he wanted had been an inherit ability.

Sometimes manipulation was a good thing.

"Well then," his mother said after another hesitation, as he resumed his caressing of his son's hair, "I guess I'll have to be a _little_ nice to him tonight, won't I?"

Vejita stuck out his lip, thoughtfully, and then said, "I don't know... I don't think he likes it when you're nice to him."

His mother just stared at him, and prodded, "Oh?"

Too easy.

Like running mice through a maze.

"He says that it scares him when you're nice, because that's when he knows he's done something wrong."

A silence, and then Vejita's mother broke into a rather gorgeous smile and threw his head back to laugh.

"Did he!"

When he was smiling like that, it was easy to see why the king was so enamored with Vejita's mother, despite the attitude.

Gohan could feel his own fascination, although for a different reason; he wondered if this was what Vejita looked like whenever he smiled for real.

He wouldn't know.

No one had ever seen Vejita smile. Not like that.

Vejita, enjoying his mother's laughter, nodded again, pleased that everything was going according to plan.

His mother leaned forward, wrapping arms around his neck in fondness, and set his chin on the top of Vejita's head.

"And what else did he say?"

Vejita thought for a moment, and added, eagerly, "He said that whenever someone is really mean to you, it must mean they like you. And he said that that must mean you like him more than anyone else because you're mean as hell to him."

His reward was another smile and more laughter.

It wasn't a lie, though. His father _had _told him that, but long ago and in confidence.

Well, if it helped then his father wouldn't be angry at him, right? Even if he was, it was worth it to see his mother looking happy after so long.

Gohan could certainly agree. Aggression and hate were bad enough to feel, but when you could smell it as potently as Vejita could, it was all the more off-putting.

He'd had enough of hate.

The laughter carried on into the night, Gohan's too although they couldn't hear him, and when the king finally returned for the day, Vejita's mother sent him such a brilliant smile that the king fell still in the doorway, clearly put on guard.

"What?"

Vejita looked up at his mother with an observant eye, as he smiled away and shook his head, and the king entered the room warily, with narrowed eyes of suspicion.

Vejita waited to see if it had really worked.

They stared at each other for a while, and it was Gohan who smiled when Vejita's mother picked up his son and went for the door, whispering seductively as he sauntered past the king, "I better put our child to bed, because I think I'm about to be mean as hell to you."

Vejita, gripping his mother's shoulder, furrowed his brow in confusion at the words and at the sudden way his father's tail was lashing back and forth, unsure of whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Maybe he had done his father in rather than help him out.

Gohan just raised a brow, knowing full-well what was about to happen, and enjoyed the scent of something other than stress.

Vejita sat there on his own bed after his mother tossed him down upon it, and he rested his head in his hands as he wondered what all of that had been. He had been hoping for something a little more comprehensible, such as mutual embracing and apologies.

Oh, well.

Finally he gave up and went to sleep, hoping above all that his father would last the night.

Anyway, maybe the words themselves didn't matter; it was the first time they had spoken to each other in a while. That was all that he cared about.

When the dawn broke the next morning, Vejita leapt out into the hall and bounded into his parents' bedroom to wake them up.

Gohan struggled to keep up with Vejita's pace.

Little kids were so damn active—couldn't they sleep later? The sun wasn't even up all the way and Vejita was already hyper.

His parents were surely thinking the same thing, as Vejita jumped up onto their bed to shake them awake.

Gohan could feel his confusion then, striking him like a damn rock.

Well.

His father was alright, so that was good. They didn't look as though they hated each other, and that was good too. The scents were strange, though, and when his father sat up a bit reluctantly, staring at the child through bleary eyes, Vejita was certain that he smelt traces of blood, and that made him worry a little.

Vejita's sense of smell was far beyond anything Gohan had ever known. His father's must have been, then, as well. For a second there, Gohan felt a little twinge of regret that he had been so harsh with his father for so long. The world certainly looked different when you were a Saiyan.

Being half just didn't quite make the cut.

Ah, hell. He shoved it aside. His father had brought resentment down upon himself.

"Awake already?" the king finally rasped, snatching Gohan's attention, and Vejita just nodded his head.

Beneath the blanket, his mother muttered something incomprehensible as he reached out with a blind hand to grope around for the child. When he finally found him, Vejita was yanked in and quickly nuzzled.

And Vejita knew then that everything was alright.

He lied there on top of the blanket, nestled between his parents as his father plopped back down tiredly, and there was only contentment.

Happiness.

The first time in a long time.

Vejita was pleased with himself.

His family had been ideal before; he didn't like the changes that had been taking place recently. If he had to take matters into his own hands to get things back to the way they were, then that was fine.

He could do that. It wasn't that hard. His parents seemed to be on better terms now.

From that day, things started to go back to normal.

The stranger that had come to visit was completely forgotten to the child.

Vejita considered the situation resolved, and went on with life as normal.

And Gohan jumped at shadows, knowing that Vejita's complacently was premature. Every time the door opened, Gohan snapped his head over in dread, thinking that it would be Freiza standing there in the doorway.

He couldn't bear this suspense.

Waiting.

When he had been a child, Frieza had been the most terrifying thing he had ever known. He had assumed that once he had grown up that that fear would have been forgotten. Maybe it was just being a kid again that made it rush up out of the dark.

At any rate, Vejita's little experiment didn't have lasting results.

A month or so later, Nappa came to his father late at night, knocking politely on the door and then dragging him out into the hallway.

Vejita didn't know what they talked about, or why Nappa's eyes were so wide, but when his father finally came back in, he was a bit pale and his hands were clenched into fists.

The child was sent off into his own room.

The next day, his parents avoided each other again, and Vejita _hated _Nappa for it.

Hated him.

Everything had been _alright_ again. Why had the big idiot come and messed it up?

Gohan almost felt sorry for Nappa, who had suddenly found himself in Vejita's warpath and didn't even know why. Glares and the silent treatment were mingled with general hostility, and sometimes Vejita lashed out physically too, although Nappa was stronger than he was at the moment so it wasn't anything to really worry about.

Still, Gohan could see that it hurt Nappa, as much as he adored Vejita, to be shunned in such a manner. To see the way his face fell when he held out a friendly hand in an offer to lift the child onto his shoulders, as he had countless times, only to have it slapped away with a scowl.

Vejita blamed Nappa for ruining his parents' good moods.

It was worse now than before.

One day, Vejita stood outside of his parents' bedroom and heard screaming.

They had just ignored each other before.

Now they fought.

He could hear their shrill voices, and he peered in through the bars that blocked the royal door from outsiders, keeping himself tucked down and out of sight as the fluttering veil gave him insight into the room.

Gohan knelt down beside of him, and in his head he could hear the voices of his own parents from years past.

Always fighting.

Always arguing.

He hadn't realized that he and Vejita had that in common, too.

An awful feeling, to be so helpless and to think that maybe it was all your fault.

Vejita's eyes locked on to his parents, as he tried to keep himself low so they wouldn't smell him there.

They stood there at the far edge of the room, nearly chest to chest with each other, his mother looking angry and hostile as his father seemed rather quiet and almost hurt, and he couldn't make out enough of their words to form a coherent conversation.

But he understood the tone.

Hate. Anger. Frustration.

They were fighting.

He had never seen them _fight_, not really. They argued all of the time, but not like _this_.

Gohan could feel the child bite his bottom lip in worry as his mother suddenly drew back his hand and slapped his father sharply across the face, and then burst into tears.

His mother never cried.

How strange. Usually his mother was the stronger one.

His father reached forward, pushing his way through his mother's attempts to shove him away, and before he knew it his father had pinned his mother up against the dresser, arm forced behind his back as he tried to calm him down. His mother snarled and spat, lashing out with his feet and his tail, trying to get free enough to injure the king.

They nearly tore the room apart.

Since when had they ever gone at each other physically?

At least with intent to harm. His mother was aiming to actually _hurt _his father.

It frightened him.

It was with great force and a look of aggression that his father finally subdued his mother still, slamming him rather harshly against the wall.

Silence.

Just like that, his mother went limp, and pressed his forehead into the wall as he uttered something under his breath.

The king's look of anger faded into something more like regret.

A long moment of whispering, and then Vejita watched with something close to fascination as his father reached up and ran a great hand up and down his mother's neck, up and down, and slowly but surely, his mother calmed and the tears stopped.

His father leaned down, with hooded words, and gently sank his teeth into the back of his mother's neck, and when his mother gave a sharp inhale that was nearly a sob, the child realized he shouldn't be watching.

He could tell by the suddenly unfamiliar movements of their tails and the change of scent.

He retreated, and as he wandered back to his own room, Gohan could feel Vejita's tiny chest puffing up with what was nothing less than absolute awe for his father.

Astounding, how his father always knew what to do when his mother was upset.

Vejita understood his mother.

His father was a very appealing mystery, everything he wanted to be and yet something he could never be all at the same time.

He was proud to be his father's son.

Whenever possible, he made this affection and admiration known.

Saying such words was as hard for him as it was his mother, so he showed it in other ways; looks and gestures and brushes of his tail, and his father's grand smile always let him know that the message was understood loud and clear.

The affection was returned.

When his father allowed it, Vejita liked to go everywhere with him, and get a view of the kingdom and how his father ran business.

The best times for the child, though, were when they were alone.

Gohan enjoyed visions of a long-lost kingdom.

It was almost like being inside of a book, only this fairytale city was something like a nightmare, and the genre was horror, not fantasy.

The prince was not going to have a righteous revenge and rally his people together.

The king would not live long, nor prosperously.

And Vejita would never live happily ever after.

The book was a just a shadow journal.

Gohan had no choice now but to read until the end.

Vejita wandered around at his father's side one morning, as they explored an empty courtyard and caught up on lost time together, and Gohan was glad for a reprieve from worry and arguing.

It seemed that the king had less and less opportunities to spend with the child.

The noose was drawing tighter.

Vejita didn't see the storm approaching.

A voice came up suddenly from behind them.

"Majesties!"

Gohan turned at the same time Vejita did, and couldn't help but jump a little bit in a start.

Oh shit—

"Morning, Bardock."

Gohan's chest unclenched, and he gave a jittery sigh.

It wasn't his father.

Rather, his grandfather.

But damn, seeing Bardock gave him a bit of a fright at first glance. The last thing he wanted was for his father to suddenly show up at his side and subsequently having to live the rest of Vejita's life with _him _constantly in the frame.

What a horrible notion.

It took a second for his heart to slow, as Vejita stared up at Bardock with no recognition.

Gohan stepped over to him to get a better look. Too bad he'd never had a chance to know his grandfather. He looked like a good man. Well—as good a man as a Saiyan could be.

The skills for genocide and massacring aside, Bardock seemed like a good man.

Not a sentence that Gohan had ever thought he would form in his head, but there it was.

His family and his ancestry, blood and all.

Gohan could have seen Bardock a thousand times, and it would have never gotten old.

Seeing himself, in Vejita's world.

Bardock and the king clasped each other on the shoulder in a friendly greeting, as they found themselves alone and without formalities, and then Bardock put his hands on his hips and leaned down, saying loudly to Vejita, "Well, well! I'm going to go out on a limb and say this is the prince! You've gotten big since the last time I saw you!"

He had.

The king placed a hand on his son's shoulder and said, "Vejita, this is Bardock. He's an old friend, and one of the smartest men on the planet. You remember when your mother taught you how to make the Blutz waves? He invented that."

"Oh."

Vejita stared up at him blankly, not much interested in this man, but he still broke into a pleased smirk when Bardock swept down onto his knee and sent a charming smile at the child.

"You look just like your father, don't you? Already too handsome for his own good."

Well.

Flattery always helped.

Bardock was suddenly much more interesting.

As Vejita puffed out in pride and his tail bristled with ego, Bardock and the king shared laughter above his head, and then someone else came running up from behind.

Gohan immediately recognized his uncle.

A pang of remorse.

Shame things hadn't turned out better. Another lost part of his past and family. His father had spared Vejita back then, but had had no thought or care of extending the same courtesy to his own brother.

How sad.

Raditz was young now, close to thirty perhaps but still clearly a child in Saiyan years, face still rather rounded and looking hardly more than a fourteen year old Earthling, and he sent only the briefest of bows to the king before he turned to his father. He was dressed in the armor that Gohan had come to associate with the Saiyan army.

He could smell Raditz, and although the aroma was nothing significant to Vejita, his own mind lit up.

Familiar, like finding a strand to a fabric that you knew well.

The scent of family.

Sometimes, it still astounded Gohan to sit back and realize to himself that these were just memories.

Not real people. They were all dead.

No matter how _real _they were in Vejita's head.

"Raditz," Bardock chided, sternly, "Aren't you going to bow to the prince?"

Raditz, face carefree and hair still as messy as ever, said only, "The prince?" before glancing back. After a second of searching, he saw tiny Vejita standing there at the king's side, and merely bowed his head quickly, turning again to his father with excitement.

Vejita didn't seem to appreciate the snub, whether his father knew these men or not, and crossed his arms over his chest as he muttered, loudly enough to be heard, "Guess there weren't enough smarts left over for _that _one."

Gohan couldn't help but smile at the aghast look on his uncle's face, especially after seeing him confident and in control on Earth, and Raditz whirled around as the king pinched Vejita's arm smartly.

Vejita winced, but was undeterred.

Bardock's smile was wider than ever as his son sputtered, defensively and a bit lamely, "Yeah, well, at least I can see past everyone's knees!"

When it came to snappy comebacks, maybe Raditz fell short.

No shame in that.

All the same, Bardock's tail lashed his son on the back in warning, and Vejita's hair bristled as he opened his mouth to say something foul that he had undoubtedly learned from his mother.

Luckily, the king reached down and clamped a firm hand over Vejita's mouth, hair clenched in the other, leaving the child's words muffled and unintelligible.

Vejita waved his little fists in fury, trying to pry his father's hand away, and Bardock raised up his head to meet the king's eye and said, fondly, "Well, they certainly take after their mothers, don't they?"

The king gave a beleaguered sigh, still clenching Vejita to keep him under control, and grumbled, "Please don't remind me."

Raditz lifted up his chin with a sniff, and turned away in dismissal as he grumbled, "Runt."

If Vejita had gotten any angrier, he probably would have just spontaneously combusted.

Bardock, apparently in a very good mood, suddenly said, in a mockingly serious voice, "They're already going at it like little lovebirds, aren't they?" A sly wink to the king. "I think we've just found a good betrothal, your majesty."

Gohan knew that this was just teasing at its best; if a third-class citizen like Bardock had ever truly offered a betrothal to the royals, Gohan was fairly certain that the king would have struck down the entire family just to remind them of their place.

They may have smiled, and the king was soft-spoken, but they were all still deadly.

Even the children.

He had trouble remembering that fact sometimes.

The king, in tune with Bardock, just raised a brow and replied, in false interest, "Indeed! That's a good idea!"

Raditz and Vejita each whirled to their fathers in horror, believing every word that was uttered.

Raditz clenched his fists and looked over at his father in a rage, crying, "Wha—_what_? You're crazy! I wouldn't ever get stuck with that mouthy little brat!"

Children took everything so seriously.

Vejita squirmed free of his father's hand, and snitted back, "Not as much as I don't want anything to do with you!" A prim sniff, and Vejita added with crossed arms, "I want my children to be able to walk around without tripping over their own hair!"

Raditz' mouth fell open, as he sputtered for a comeback.

Bardock and the king dissolved into laughter as the children sniped at each other, and that was the first time in a long, long while that the king had really looked _happy_.

Didn't last long.

When everything had settled down and the fathers had convinced their children that they were, in fact, not going to be betrothed after all, conversation grew quieter.

The king looked at Bardock with a bit of melancholy, and said, "I heard you had another son."

Gohan shivered a little.

Bardock's smile was wide and proud.

"Sure did! Looks just like me, too! Cute little guy. Sure does cry a lot, though. His mother says he must get it from my side of the family."

The king scoffed.

"Of course."

A silence fell over them, and Bardock's look grew a little more serious.

Gohan could see from the look on his face that he wanted to ask about something else, but he had sense enough not to do so in front of Vejita.

Instead, Bardock's eyes locked onto the king's intensely, and he said, carefully, "My son will be sent off soon. Cute as he is, he's not all that strong. So I made sure he got sent to a place that's easy. Safe, you know? Sometimes, it's better to send children someplace where you know they'll be safe, instead of just waiting to see what happens. Even if you don't really want them to leave."

Meaningful notions.

The king, hand still on his son's shoulder, furrowed his brow and pursed his lips.

A deep, "Mm."

Vejita and Raditz, still glowering at each other, paid little attention to the words. Gohan, on the other hand, caught them loud and clear, and he could see the stress and tension in the king's face.

He understood what his grandfather was trying to say.

'Send the prince away, before he's taken from you.'

How hard it must have been, caught in between two unfathomable options. To give his child away, or to send him off somewhere and risk the chance of losing him forever.

Neither option had a good ending.

In the end, the king seemed to reject Bardock's suggestion, and pushed Vejita to the side gently in a silent way of telling him they were leaving.

The king spared no farewell, and right before Vejita was out of sight, Gohan could see Bardock's face fall into somberness, and he hung his head.

A shadow hung over this planet now.

* * *

It wasn't long after that when Vejita began to retract his anger towards Nappa.

The child was starting to realize that something else was to blame for his parents' constant head-butting.

Not Nappa.

His mother was becoming more hostile towards his father with every minute.

Vejita stood in the hall once, peering around a corner as his mother spoke with Nappa.

Words came in and out.

"—stay calm. Please, majesty, the prince is already starting to worry."

"Good! Good! Shouldn't he? I'm sick of keeping everything from him! He's going to find out sooner or later! Why should he have to wait until Vejita is handing him over to that fuckin' lizard—"

"The king would never just hand him over, you know that. If we just wait—"

"I'm sick of waiting. I'm tired of just sitting here and waiting to see if he's going to come storming the palace one day to steal my son! I'm not letting this happen. If I have to take matters into my own hands, I will. If I have to overthrow the king and gather the army myself, I will!"

"But, majesty—"

"You go and tell Vejita that if he wants to give my son away, he'll have to go through _me _first."

With that, his mother stalked off, leaving Nappa forlorn in the hall, and Vejita retreated.

His head was aching.

Stomach churning with anxiety.

And Gohan could feel then that Vejita had had enough of being in the dark.

He wanted to know exactly what was going on, and if his mother and father wouldn't tell him, then there was one person who he was sure would.

Vejita waited in the hall for Nappa to come walking by.

He did, before long, and when he rounded a corner he suddenly found himself face to face with an agitated Vejita.

Answers would either be offered or taken by force.

Nappa stared down at the child, looking tired and a bit sad, and Gohan could see the way his shoulders slumped when Vejita demanded, firmly, "Tell me what's going on. Now."

A long, heavy silence.

Gohan could see Nappa struggling with himself, as he tried to determine whether honesty would be more detrimental than lying.

Vejita wasn't going to let him off the hook either way.

Nappa wasn't as strong-willed as Vejita's parents, and when Vejita sent him that potent little glare that promised retribution if he didn't get what he wanted, Nappa folded.

Looking around to make sure that no one was around, Nappa lowered his voice, and began, tentatively, "Do you remember the creature that come to visit?"

Vejita nodded.

He remembered, alright. Not because of the sight itself, so much as the reaction his mother had had afterwards.

Nappa hesitated, clearly struggling for a proper means of wording what he wanted to say, and then finally he just said, lowly, "Your parents are fighting so much now because of him. He wants something from them, and they don't want to give it to him. They just can't agree on what to do. That's why they're fighting. It's not your fault."

Vejita processed the words, tongue running over his teeth as his mind whirred, and then he asked, finally, "What does he want?"

Nappa stared at the child, eyes dark and brow low, and just shook his head.

"I can't tell you, prince. Your father will be angry with me."

Normally Vejita would have pressed, but wariness of his father's anger dissuaded him. Instead, he asked, "Who is he?"

"He's... Well. His name is Frieza. He's... I guess you could say he owns us."

The first time Vejita had ever heard the name spoken aloud.

Gohan knew that Nappa had never really been smart, certainly not eloquently gifted, but he was really doing the best that anyone could have done in the situation.

How could you explain slavery and tyranny to a child?

Vejita was already confused.

His father was the king—he had always thought that being a king meant being above everyone else. How could someone else own them when they already had a king?

The notion was hard for him to fathom, but he knew one thing right off :

Frieza was bad news.

His mother had made that clear the day he had set foot in the courtyard. Everything he said was a lie. Vejita had taken that to heart without really realizing it, but the look on Nappa's face now all but cemented it.

Frieza was someone to fear, someone to be wary of.

Nappa would give him little more than that, so Vejita was forced to mull it all over in his bedroom as he waited for his parents to return for the day.

Child or not, Vejita was smart. It didn't take him long to figure out that the 'something' that Frieza wanted was most likely he himself.

Gohan had thought that when Vejita had finally figured it out, that he would be terrified.

But he wasn't.

He wasn't, because his mother and father would protect him. He didn't need to be afraid.

His father would never let someone take him away.

His confidence in his parents and his lack of fear somehow made it worse than if the child had been scared. Feeling Vejita's absolute trust and devotion to his father was very nearly unbearable, because Gohan already knew that it wasn't enough to keep Frieza away.

As far as Vejita was concerned, Freiza was nothing as long as his father was around.

He didn't understand why his mother was still so angry at his father.

Nothing bad would happen.

His father was the king.

In fact, the only frightening prospect of this entire ordeal was the thought that he had somehow caused it. He had done something wrong, Frieza had noticed, and now his parents were paying the price.

Yet, no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't figure out what he had done.

He couldn't recall any missteps on his part. Any significant rule-breaking.

...maybe he shouldn't have caused such a ruckus in the palace.

Gohan shook his head to himself, and heaved a sigh.

_This _was the price of an adult's vagueness. The child was blaming himself, since other explanations weren't offered.

Vejita sat there on his bed, letting loose a sigh every so often as his childish mind reeled, and when the hour grew late and his parents had come back, he crept out and stood outside their bedroom door.

It took him a while to gather up the courage needed.

Finally, Vejita took a deep breath and pushed open the door, slinking inside, and then he somehow found the nerve to open his mouth, even as his parents spat angry words at each other.

"You're fighting because of Frieza, aren't you? Do I have to go with him?"

Just like that, his parents froze still, and turned to look at him.

The reaction was swift, and harsh.

His mother was suddenly kneeling before him, teeth bared and hands squeezing his shoulders painfully, shaking him as he hissed, "Don't say that name, understand? Don't!"

Gohan could see that they were shaken. So long hiding things from Vejita. It must have hurt, to realize that they were going to have to tell him, whether they wanted to or not.

Vejita submitted under his mother's wrath, but even as his mother clenched him to his chest, the child was fully aware that his questions had not been answered.

Gohan was more frustrated than Vejita was.

When would they tell him the truth? When Frieza was dragging him onto his ship? When it had gone too far?

His grandfather had been right—they should have sent their child somewhere safe.

It was probably too late, now.

Things were deteriorating.

The king took a step towards his child, no doubt in an attempt to deny the fact and try to comfort him, but the sound and scent of him approaching seemed to send Vejita's mother over the edge.

With a deep, reverberating growl that come up from his chest out of nowhere, Vejita's mother suddenly snatched the child into his arms and kicked them back into the corner of the room, as far away from the king as he could.

The sound of it was like nothing Gohan had ever known a person could be capable of, but the Saiyan side of him recognized it instantly as a sound of warning and danger.

The king stopped in his tracks, and stared down at them.

Vejita's agitation grew, but he knew better than to open his mouth and provoke them any further, suddenly caught in the middle of a volatile situation.

His mother's arms were wrapped around him so tightly that he could barely breathe.

He squirmed at the pain, but his mother hardly seemed to be aware of himself, let alone anything going on around him—his eyes were locked solely on the king.

The sound of the growl was rather terrifying; Gohan felt like he was Vejita's age again, standing in front of a great wolf.

The king edged closer, carefully, and with every step he took the grip on the child grew ever tighter.

Vejita's mother ducked his head down, and he suddenly whispered, seemingly to himself, "No one is taking him anywhere. I swear it."

The king's look grew concerned when he saw Vejita trying to pry himself out of the painful grip.

No good. His mother wouldn't budge.

"It's alright. Nobody is going anywhere."

He held out his arms, beseechingly, and Vejita tried again to break free, wanting nothing more than to be held safely by his father.

But his mother just wouldn't let him go.

"Vejita," his mother finally said, as he clenched his child against his chest, "If you try to give my son to that lizard, I swear—I swear, I'll rip you apart." His already gruff voice thickened as his distress grew, and he added, lowly, as he struggled to keep his breathing in check, "I don't care how much I love you, I swear I'll kill you. I swear it."

The king tried to come closer, obviously fearful for the wellbeing of his child, and was stopped by another deep, throaty growl.

"He's _my _son, too."

Gohan's chest was so constricted now that he could feel his ribs threatening to crack.

Vejita's mother was starting to lose control.

The tension was overwhelming, and so was the despair.

The king lowered himself down onto his knees in an effort to approach the distraught mother, inching his way forward despite the warning growls. When he was close enough, he lashed out, aiming to take Vejita into his own hands, and there was a moment of snarling and struggling as they fought for control.

His mother's hands were forced away, and he could breathe again.

Before Vejita could wriggle out of the way of harm, his mother's tail had coiled around him like a rope, forcing him into another painful grip.

Caught.

In the end, the king somehow wrenched Vejita free of his mother's clutches, and pushed him out of harm's way. Vejita hid himself on the other side of the bed, peering out from above as his mother burst into tears and tried to cause harm to the king in any way, be it tooth, nail or tail.

The second time now he had seen them physically fight.

"I'll think of something," the king hissed, his own voice thick as he tried to keep control over his thrashing partner, "I swear I will. Stop it! Please—please don't, I'll think of something."

His mother's broken voice.

"I'll kill you before I let you give him away, get _away _from me—"

"Stop, _stop_! You have to calm down, this isn't helping anything! I'll find a way out of it, I swear!"

Vejita, hands clenching the blanket as his eyes flitted back and forth above, tried his best to comprehend the situation.

He didn't really get it, but he knew that it was somehow his fault.

His fault.

His mother said that his father wanted to give him away...

That couldn't be right.

After an hour or so, they finally stopped fighting, their strength and fury exhausted, and he was glad.

Gohan was, too.

He couldn't stand their screaming, their fighting and their dissonance, and the effect it was having on their child.

Vejita's little heart was hammering away in his chest as he watched them.

It was just like when Chichi and Goku had stood above him and fought with each other over the stupidest things, having no care of how _he _felt.

Wrenching his wrists free of the king's hands, Vejita's mother hauled himself upright, panting and sweating, and Vejita very nearly hid under the bed when his mother came stalking towards him.

The king rushed forward, in worry, but before he could intercept anything Vejita had been snatched up.

The grip was gentle this time, though, and the king fell back at the withering look sent in his direction.

Hatred.

Helpless and absolutely powerless, Vejita just let his mother cart him off down the hall and into the bedroom. His mother slept in his bed that night, refusing to release his grip, and Vejita just lied there, not really understanding why he was so upset and why he was suddenly so frightening.

He just wanted them to tell him the truth.

His mother fell asleep quickly, tired as he was, and Vejita wriggled silently out of his arms, hopping down off the bed and running out into the hall.

When he reached his parents' room, he slunk in again, and saw his father sitting there on the edge of the bed, head held in his hands and tail unmoving, and he stepped forward, tentatively, coming to a halt before the king.

Slowly, his father seemed to realize that he was there, and looked up through his fingers.

His eyes were red and bleary, but he tried to smile all the same.

"Still awake?"

How could he sleep?

Vejita stood there, looking up at his father, and finally he gathered the courage to ask, "Did I do something wrong?"

Rubbing his hand quickly over his eyes, the king reached out and grabbed Vejita under the arms, pulling him up into his lap, saying quickly, "No, no, you didn't do anything wrong."

He didn't understand, then, why they fought. He meant to press, but stopped short when his father suddenly clutched him to his chest and buried his face in his hair.

Vejita knew he was crying, and so he just sat there, and didn't say a word.

A long time passed before his father spoke again, and when he did, it was with a thick voice.

"Vejita," he began, as he clung to the child, "Do you remember when we used to play in the halls?"

Vejita nodded.

"Do you remember how I was always able to catch you?"

Vejita thought for a moment, and then said, "Because you were smarter."

The king nodded, and continued, "And what did you have to do to catch me?"

"I had to be smarter than you."

The king finally pulled back, eyes and face tired, and he ran a hand down his son's face, saying, "Right. You're strong. You know you're strong, and one day you're going to be one of the strongest beings in the universe. But, he's strong, too."

Vejita hesitated, but then said, "Frieza?"

The king nodded again.

"Freiza wants to rule everyone in the universe. He wants everything. He came here that day to see you because he wants to take you with him."

A flood of fearful adrenaline burned the child's veins.

He had been right, after all.

It _was _his fault.

Fingers were suddenly in his hair.

"He wants to take you because he's afraid of you. He's afraid that you'll be the one who will one day end his tyranny. He's afraid of what you'll be when you grow up. Right now, he's much stronger, stronger than you can imagine, and he might always be stronger. If he's stronger than you, do you know what you have to do?"

Vejita clung to the king's shirt, tail curling out and winding around his father's arm in insecurity, and then he said, tentatively, "I have to be smarter than him."

"That's right. As long as you're smarter than him, then you'll be alright. And one day you'll be the one to defeat him. But you have to be careful, and make sure you wait for the right time. Be smart, and you'll win."

"But," Vejita began, a twinge of fear creeping into his voice despite his best efforts, "Won't you and mother be with me? I won't be alone, right?"

The king didn't answer, and his chest tensed up as he struggled to control his breathing.

"I don't know," he finally said. "I don't know. If we're not, if you're all by yourself, promise me you'll be smarter than he is."

"Okay."

In his heart, he dreaded his father's words.

He didn't want to be alone.

Twice now he had been forced to agree to promises he didn't really comprehend.

Arms wrapped around him, far more comforting than his mother's ferocious grasp, and Gohan could feel the rising laziness and lethargy as the exhausted child finally found a little comfort.

His father's scent was always so reassuring, no matter the circumstance.

They sat there for a long time, communicating without words through subconscious movements of their tails, and when his father finally spoke again, it was with a different tone.

Deeper, and husky.

Adoring.

"I'm going to tell you a story."

Vejita raised up his black eyes, and stared at his father with awe.

It was astounding, the idolization. Gohan missed the way that life had felt back when his father could do no wrong, when his father had been his hero and his savior and his idol.

Clearing his throat a bit and rubbing at his weary eyes, the king straightened up, and kept Vejita perched comfortably on his knee.

Then he opened his mouth, and spoke.

The story he told was one of history and myth.

A fairy tale, and yet something so much more.

It was the first time that Vejita had heard the legend of the super Saiyan.

A story that would come to dominate his life.

The child memorized every word, every expression on his father's face, every movement of the king's tail, every tone and every gesture and every single emotion put into the ancient myth.

The entire time the king spoke, Vejita didn't utter a word of interruption, absolutely and completely enthralled.

And Gohan sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed beneath him and hands tucked within, and he could feel himself leaning forward in breathless fascination as Vejita's father wove a tale of awe and glory.

Hell, if _his _father had ever told him a story this damn entrancing, he might have become obsessed with it, too.

The king was certainly a fantastical storyteller.

Had anything ever been as appealing as that yarn, promising strength and power and confidence, when everything now was so uncertain?

Vejita didn't even realize that he was gripping handfuls of his father's clothing and hardly breathing.

He believed every single word of it, and nothing could have ever described the pride and the hope that Vejita felt then, when his father turned to him and pressed their noses together, uttering, "You'll be a super Saiyan one day. I _know _you will. You're the one who will be able to do it. I know it."

A fervent, completely sincere declaration.

Vejita could feel his father's conviction, and it became his own.

A super Saiyan.

A little bit of hope to cling to, in a world where the Saiyans were little more than dirt.

Vejita knew then, hearing that story, that he didn't need to be afraid of Frieza after all.

If everything his father said was true, then why was everyone so scared? If he became a super Saiyan when he was older, then there was nothing to fear.

So he nodded his head, and replied, assuredly, "I will be."

If his father said it, then it was.

And that was that.

* * *

Weeks later, a man came to visit, in Frieza's stead.

In his hands, he brought a paper.

The king curled his lip and sneered at him as he approached.

Vejita spied them from around the corner, Nappa hovering over him, as they both stuck their heads out and indulged in their nosiness.

The king had told him to stay put in his bedroom, but his confidence had grown now, and along with it his recklessness. Nappa didn't need much prodding to go along with it and take Vejita to where the meeting was being held.

Nappa was just as desperate, after all.

In this case, perhaps their curiosity was a bad thing.

Sometimes, maybe it was just better not to know.

"Who's that?" Vejita asked, quietly, and Nappa's face crinkled into a snarl of dislike.

"Zarbon. Frieza's right-hand man. You'll be seeing him a lot when..."

Nappa trailed off, suddenly, and fell silent.

Vejita furrowed his brow, and shifted apprehensively at the strange statement.

Seeing him when _what_?

Nappa knew so much more than he let on.

Worry about it later—for now, Vejita's concern was with what the man was saying to his father.

Gohan remembered Zarbon, but hardly. Old flashes of memories from Namek. He hadn't really crossed him much.

Sad to say Vejita had.

"Lord Frieza's demands. I'm sure you'll read it carefully."

The paper was snatched testily, and the king raised it up and read it silently and swiftly.

A long, dangerous silence.

The king straightened up his back, afterwards, as his son watched from afar, and he said, simply, "Go to hell."

The man just flipped his hair casually over his shoulder, and gave a short laugh.

Vejita listened carefully as the king crumpled the charter in his hands, and the man said, as he turned to leave, "Indeed! You have the offer. The prince, or the planet. One year. Get him ready to work, won't you? Time has become an issue for you."

Another laugh.

As soon as the man was gone, Vejita and Nappa watched as the king shredded the paper in his hands, chest heaving up and down as he tried to keep himself controlled.

It didn't work very well; after a silent moment, the king whirled around and punched the unlucky soul that was the closest right in the face, knocking him out dead on the floor, and Nappa grabbed Vejita's shoulders to pull him back.

Vejita had wanted the truth.

He had it now.

Sort of.

As he crept back into the hall, hidden behind huge Nappa, Gohan could hear Vejita's disjointed thoughts floating through his head, and one stood out more than any other.

'_He just wants me to work for him. That's not so bad.'_

The child still didn't comprehend the gravity of the situation.

Even as his father's furious screaming echoed after him down the hall.

Vejita dreaded, above all else, when this news was brought to his mother.

It was in that instant, perhaps, that whatever had remained of Vejita's childhood was all but shattered. The line in the sand had been drawn, and Gohan knew that it was now time for the child to start learning how to purge.

One more year until Frieza came calling.

That night, Vejita sat up in bed and listened carefully, waiting for the moment when his father told his mother what had transpired.

He didn't need to be stealthy. The entire kingdom probably heard his mother's shriek of fury.

Wrath incarnate.

Nappa came into his room soon after, grabbed him in his arms, and took him out through the window with a low, "We should go outside for a little while, prince."

Despite the late hour, Vejita did as Nappa said, because he was terrified of his mother.

He could already hear things being broken and torn apart.

If Gohan had ever thought he had felt helpless when he watched Vejita having a panic attack, then it was nothing compared to the helplessness the child felt, as he clung to Nappa's great neck and watched the windows shattering from safely below.

His mother's rampage lasted until dawn.

By then, Vejita had pretty much forgotten the story that his father had told him and the hope that it had brought up within him.

Gohan could only assume that it must not have been until there was absolutely nothing left for him to hope for when Vejita truly became obsessed with the old legend.

He was fascinated by it now, sure, and thought it was certainly something to look forward to, but he wasn't particularly inclined to worry much about it. He logged it away as a pleasant story, and didn't think all that much more about it.

For now, the legend was just that, and he had very _real_ things that he needed to worry about.

His mother, most of all.

Every day, his mother seemed to get worse.

Gohan began to fear him more than Frieza.

As the ultimatum crept ever closer, Vejita's mother become more and more desperate. He would have done anything to keep his son from Frieza.

Anything.

And one night, as his mother sat in bed and held him up to his chest, Vejita realized that 'anything' might have meant hurting _him_, too.

If it meant keeping him from Frieza, his mother might have killed him.

Gohan would never forget the night that that fleeting thought became a very real possibility.

His mother ran one hand through his hair, humming absently as he stared at the wall above Vejita's head, and the last thing that Vejita heard, as he felt the creeping of sleep, was the fervent, breathless whisper of his mother rising above the silence of the darkness.

The terror it brought up within the child was like nothing Gohan had ever felt, not ever.

Hair-raising in its simplicity and honesty.

His father had offered him a legend.

His mother offered something very different.

Low, dark words.

A promise :

"I'll kill us _all _before I give you to him."

Vejita clung to his mother the entire night, kept awake by fear and the relentless, grating sound of his mother chewing on his nails; a sound a thousand times more frightening than the screaming had ever been.

Hours and hours and hours of it.

Vacant staring.

Grinding.

The place that had once been the safest was suddenly the most dangerous.

His mother's arms.

The fingers running in his hair had become painful; long, tugging grips that wrenched his head back with every stroke.

Nails dug into his scalp.

The smell of blood.

The gradual waning of his mother's sanity.

No legend could ever fix that.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N **: All of you guys are SO awesome. Seriously. You rock. :D **Saiyamekian Princess** : Thanks so much! :D At this point, Pan hasn't been born (yet). ...did that ruin it? Lol.

Had a hard time assigning this (super-long) chapter. :/ Still gotta proof-read, too, so bear with me a little until then.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Everything was changing.

No matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn't stop.

Vejita woke up one morning to the sound of his parents screaming at each other, and realized that everything had changed.

It wasn't a conscious declaration.

It had been creeping up for a long time now, and Krillin realized it at that moment in the quiet resignation that gripped the child's chest as he lied there on his side, tail hanging limply off the edge of the bed as his mother's screeches echoed in the hall.

Everything was different.

No matter what he did, it wouldn't ever go back to the way it had been.

He had no choice but to accept it.

Dusty light streamed in through the windows, and Vejita heaved a sigh, having no desire to even get out of bed. He just wanted to go back to sleep so that he wouldn't have to listen to his parents fighting.

Krillin sat down on the foot of the bed, hunched over and staring at the child with a twisted head, and sometimes, when the pale light of dawn came in and lit up the child's hair in shades of fallow and white, Vejita faded and he could see Marron lying there, so despondent.

The paternal sentiments within him had been going haywire lately.

He had always thought that children were lucky, not having to deal with the pressures of life as adults did.

That was their right.

But he'd been wrong about that, alright, because Vejita was five and was already caving in to stress and the unpleasant sensations of uncertainly and doubt.

Somehow, being a child was scarier.

Nothing made sense.

Vejita had terrified Krillin, the first time they had met (and indeed for quite a while after that), and although that terror had faded into wariness and from there to respect and perhaps fondness, always, always, he had seen Vejita as unbreakable and untouchable.

A man who feared nothing and was moved by nothing.

A god; not immortal but damn-near impossible to kill.

Maybe he had seen Vejita come back from so many unfathomable things that he had just assumed he was invincible.

It was rather unsettling, certainly disconcerting, to realize that Vejita was perfectly mortal, and very much able to feel fear and panic and insecurity.

Hurt.

When this journey had first begun, when Vejita had still been crawling on the floor, Krillin had leaned back against the bed one day and had suddenly realized that he would end up seeing himself through Vejita's eyes. And, hell, that thought had terrified him a little.

A lot, actually.

His weakness compared to Vejita and Goku (and even Gohan) had always made him a little insecure. Seeing himself as Vejita saw him would only open up old self-conscious nightmares he had forgotten he had.

That fear had faded.

Whatever was coming down the line was hardly worth his time now, and he realized it didn't matter anyhow.

Vejita was as afraid and unsure of himself now as Krillin had ever been.

Those smirks of confidence, that chilly gaze and that brazen gait.

Big words and tough talk.

Smoke.

Krillin was behind the screen now, and he and Vejita were one and the same, in more ways than one.

If he had realized before that Vejita actually had a normal range of emotions beneath that over-confident barrier, maybe it would have been easier for him to try and actually befriend Vejita.

Krillin had called them 'friends' for a long time now, to himself, but he was pretty sure that Vejita would be considered more of a comrade than a true friend, and God only knew what Vejita called _him_.

They had never even sat down and had a serious conversation. He had assumed that Vejita would have laughed at him and walked off if ever he tried to instigate friendly ventures.

He should have tried.

It seemed stupid, now, that he had ever considered Vejita to be devoid of any emotions that weren't terrible ones.

This child showed the same fear and vulnerability that Marron did, although he was able to hide it a little better. Watching his family crumble beneath him hurt him as much as it would have hurt any little kid.

Days and days passed sometimes now without Vejita seeing his father at all, because his mother had taken to barricading the child in his room and refusing to let anyone come near.

Trapped on all sides.

And this morning just dragged on by like any other.

The sounds of a struggle in the hall, as his mother tried to prevent the king from entering the bedroom.

Finally, after hours and hours of relentless shrieking, Vejita raised up his head to see his father standing in the doorway, shoulders slumped and face tired.

He had won the fight today.

Yet the circles under his eyes grew ever darker.

"Get up," the king finally said, voice hoarse and scratchy. "It's time to go."

For an awful, lurching moment, Vejita thought his father meant, 'It's time for you to go away.'

No, no—the year wasn't up yet. Couldn't be.

The panic subsided into dull listlessness.

Instead of asking to where they were headed, Vejita just slid off the bed, too disenchanted with his parents to really even bother anymore, and began to pull on his boots.

Krillin recognized the feeling of apathy.

The child didn't even care where they went anymore. It didn't matter; anywhere they went, anything they did, his mother still hated his father, and the shadow of Frieza still loomed over him.

He didn't care.

Vejita was already becoming desensitized.

His feet and hands moved of his own accord, robotically almost, and Krillin was somehow surprised when he realized they were already in the hall.

The child was so lost in his head that it was very easy to follow suit, and the real world went by far too quickly.

Even scents were rather dulled, as Vejita acted and saw but didn't take any of it in.

He was going somewhere. That was it.

Nappa was waiting at the end of the hall, a tense line on his forehead and tail coiled tightly in nervousness, and when he saw Vejita coming he was quick to incline his head to the king before taking his place behind the child.

As Vejita ambled on aimlessly, Krillin found himself glancing side to side for any sight of Vejita's mother.

He hadn't left the child alone ever since the deadline had been set, keeping a frighteningly predatory watch on the door and letting no one near. The fact that they walked without interruption now could surely only mean that the king had somehow put Vejita's mother out, either by brute force or medication.

Probably both, come to think.

The king looked like hell.

It had been a long, long week or so since Vejita had actually gotten to see his father, kept away by his mother's aggression, and Krillin noticed more than the child did his deterioration.

Paler now than his child, he seemed to walk within a perpetual air of defeat, off-balance and less than graceful, as if really _trying_ was just too much effort.

Even his head couldn't seem to raise itself up in the face of this challenge.

His eyes were downcast as he led the child onward.

Krillin empathized with him, knowing well what it was like to have a spouse that could downright terrify you sometimes, and God, the thought of Eighteen ever hating him like this because he had been unable to protect his own child would have been the lowest he could have ever possibly fallen.

To be powerless.

To lose any and all sense of security.

Twists and turns, doors and halls, and then suddenly they were outside, standing before a spacecraft.

Vejita lifted up his eyes with a heavy exhale of agitation, and looked up at the great vessel before him.

Boarding it for the first time was a little daunting.

The royal ship was rather magnificent from the outside, as far as Krillin was concerned. Then again, it was the _royal _ship for a reason, he supposed, and the king certainly wasn't going to traverse space in a shoddy pod. It could have just been his own considerable lack of knowledge about technology and spaceships that made it so grand.

Vejita couldn't have cared less about how it looked.

The sound of the door sliding open startled the child, and he snapped his eyes over to his father, seeking the sight and smell of reassurance. His father didn't even bother trying to smile, and just nudged him on gently.

Vejita was reluctant to board.

Not because he was afraid of the unknown.

He was afraid that once he set foot on that ship, the door would close and it would be the last he ever saw of his home. He was afraid that once he was out of the safety of his familiar atmosphere, that he would be given away.

He was afraid of being sent off.

He'd never voice the fears aloud, however, because then he was afraid that by doing so his father would think he was weak and have an excuse to get rid of him.

He loved his father.

It was unspeakably horrifying to think that the feeling was not a completely mutual one.

It hadn't ever been a doubt before, but his mother kept on saying it over and over and over again that the king was going to pass him off to another.

Another nudge at the base of his neck, and he looked up to see his father staring down at him.

Low, gentle prodding.

"It's alright. Go ahead."

Vejita stood still, alarmingly frozen.

He didn't want to go first. What if he started walking, thinking his father was behind, and then got to the top and realized his father had stayed down below? What if the door shut while his father was still outside?

A child should never have had to worry so much about whether or not he would get to see his parents the next day.

Krillin stood there, shifting from foot to foot and rubbing absently at his temple.

Damn—it was hard to sit by and watch everything when all he wanted to do was stomp his foot and scream at the everyone.

He would have waged war and risked the Earth itself if it was for Marron's sake.

The king was trying so hard to keep everything intact, so much so that he was going along with hopeless plans and negotiations and bottling up everything within.

How much longer before he lost it all?

The child tried to bide time, and asked, suddenly, "Isn't mother coming?"

The king shook his head.

"Your mother needs some rest."

"What's wrong with him?"

A hesitation, and finally the king said, simply, "He's been sick. That's all."

Sick.

Was that what was wrong with him?

His mother had never been sick before.

Lost for more time-wasting tactics, the child still hung back.

Behind him, the king finally seemed to understand his child's reluctance, and the hurt that flashed through his eyes was disheartening when he seemed to grasp that Vejita didn't completely trust him, although the child certainly gave it everything he had.

So, the king came forward and took the first step up, and Vejita went with him.

Even so, when Nappa had entered and moved to shut the door, Vejita turned around and took a hard look at the city beyond, inhaling a great breath and with it the scent of the planet.

Just in case.

A low rumbling beneath them signaled takeoff, and Vejita kept his tail still and tight and furrowed his brow so that his father wouldn't see how nervous he was.

He tried very hard to be brave, but Krillin's aching chest and racing pulse were difficult to get around.

Seconds later, the ship lifted off, and they were flying.

Rocking and turbulence marred the first moments, as the ship broke through layers of atmosphere, and Vejita's fists were clenched so tightly that his fingers were numbing from the pressure.

Nappa came over to his side, as the king leaned against the wall of the ship and was already lost in his own head, and tried to hover over a bit if only to offer a point of support.

What kid could ever be shot up into space for the first time and not be scared?

Even a Saiyan child could tremble in the face of new sensations.

A few minutes later, things settled, and it was smooth sailing.

The first time the child had ever left his own planet.

The first time in space.

An exhilaration and fascination beyond words, as Vejita stood before the circular window and pressed his hands up against the glass, staring out into the endless black of space and marveling at every blink of existential light that passed them by.

A shiver of enthrallment ran through him at the sight of his own home, red and glowing against the backdrop of black, swirls of grey clouds mingling with the rust.

Indescribable notions and sentiments, jumbled words and thoughts, as the child took in the vastness of the universe for the first time and realized that there was something _more_.

Home had always seemed so enormous before.

Vejita grasped now how infinitesimal one little planet truly was.

The listless apathy of the past year was blown away by the great wind of discovery.

The visions in Vejita's mind then could never have been understood by an adult alone; there were no names to the colors and creatures and grandiosity of imaginary adventures.

All Krillin could do was just see it himself and cling to it, trying to keep the aimless wanderings close, as his mature mind attempted to organize them and make sense of their abstraction. He refused; letting it do so would ruin the enchantment.

Wonder.

Vejita had fallen in love with space the moment he had first seen it.

Krillin could feel it there in his chest, as a burning, writhing electricity.

Space and the freedom of the universe called to Vejita as strongly as any inherit instincts did.

The days on that ship may have been long to the king and Nappa, as they shot off through space in a streak, but to the Vejita the time was flying by as fast as they were.

It never got old, putting his hands on the pane and popping up on his toes to look at stars and planets.

The great unknown.

For a while there, Vejita fell into fantasy and very nearly forgot that there was ever any darkness awaiting him. Being in space was a reprieve from reality for the child.

Krillin accepted it, gratefully, and didn't want it to end.

All things did.

Two weeks later, they finally began to land.

Vejita was excited and eager to see something new, but Krillin had been dreading this from the day he had first awoken as a child.

When he would finally commit his first murder.

Still, for all his reservations, he had no choice but to follow a fidgeting Vejita as he scampered to the cockpit of the ship, shoving Nappa to the side to steal his spot at the pilot's window and very nearly crawling up onto the control panel to get the best view.

The approaching planet was green and yellow, bright and beckoning ahead of them.

Vejita was absolutely enthralled with this strange new world.

Contact with outsiders he had never really even known truly existed, although he had heard so many stories. Nothing compared with seeing it for himself.

Nappa laughed at his eagerness.

The lower they flew, the more Vejita could see.

It didn't take long for him to realize that they were not the first ones arriving.

Smoke and fire filled the horizon.

The ship landed right in the middle of something extremely chaotic, and Vejita scrambled over to the door and awaited impatiently for his father to open it up.

As soon as the door slid open, the smell of it struck him like a slap in the face.

Smoke and oil, blood and machinery, and many other aromas that would have been potent to an Earthling but that were very nearly visible to a Saiyan in their vividness.

Shrieking.

The child literally stepped out into the middle of a war zone.

And yet, despite the whirlwind of fire and screams, Vejita stood there in the center of it and was not afraid.

His heart began to race, to be sure, but not because he was scared. The sensations and thoughts that come over him were extremely confusing, and Krillin couldn't really sort them out into something legible.

One thing, however, was very clear.

The scent of blood triggered something in Vejita's brain, some impulse that was always waiting beneath the surface. It was undeniable, and very nearly overpowering.

The urge to hurt.

To hunt, as it was.

Thoughts were thoughts and emotions were emotions, but whatever it was that lit up in his veins then could never really be explained.

Just pure instinct.

Everything sharpened. Vision became clearer. Hearing improved. Time slowed down in his mind to give him better reflexes.

The Saiyans had been bred to cause destruction, as much as a dog had been bred to be loyal.

Krillin could feel Vejita struggling to keep aware of himself as instincts threatened to take complete control.

No wonder it had been so hard for Vejita back then.

Setting Vejita on Earth and expecting him to adapt just like that was pretty much akin to setting a lion down on a farm and then being angry when it ate the sheep.

This was what his genes had been imprinted to do. It took more will-power than could have been imagined to control instinct and keep rational thought.

Especially so young.

Vejita looked back and forth, heart hammering and veins burning, eager to leap forward and yet reluctant to engage.

Uncertainly, and discomfort.

Restlessness.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, jittery and bristling.

His tail was swinging away behind him of his own accord.

The sights and sounds and smells were thrust upon him all at once, too much for him to process.

His pupils dilated.

His mother had taught him to fight, but not in a setting like this, not where the urge to win was replaced by the urge to wreak havoc on whatever he could.

His fingertips tingled, as electricity charged and crackled of its own accord and had nowhere to go.

Vejita didn't know where to start, or how.

The king, keen to Vejita's confusion, leaned down, raised up his child's hand straight before him, and said, lowly, "Here, look. It's easiest if you just think of it as a game."

A game?

Overwhelmed Vejita didn't know where to go in this game, as eagerness threatened to pull him in six different directions.

The king was kneeling down next to him suddenly, the child's hand still within his own, and pointed towards a great warship in the distance, hovering above the chaos as it attempted to take aim on enemies below.

"See that? Why don't you go after those? See how many ships you can get. Keep count."

The child's brow flew up as he grasped now the game.

Score-keeping was, beyond the lengthy notions of morality at least, the best way to teach the child to raze a planet without actually destroying it.

Training the brain, perhaps, in an incredibly bloody way.

By thinking of it as a game and trying to keep 'points', as it was, it was easier for the child to keep himself and not fall completely into excessive impulse. To be smart and rational, rather than just going about and blowing up whatever he saw without so much as a thought.

To keep tally, he had to keep aware.

The tingling in his fingers turned into warmth as energy pooled into his palm, and, just as his mother had taught him, Vejita engaged in his first real battle with a burst of light.

A surreal silence, as everything slowed with his anticipation.

The explosion that suddenly lit up the sky startled the child a bit; not the sound nor the sight of it, but the knowledge that he had caused it.

Clanking and trembling of the ground beneath their feet, as the warship fell in pieces down to the terrain below, crushing no doubt a great deal of its own soldiers in the process.

It was the first time in his life that Krillin had ever aimed at something with the intent to kill and destroy. _He _hadn't done it, not really, but Vejita's hand was his own and that bolt of energy had squirmed its way down his arm the same way it always had.

Marron's voice echoed in his head, asking him what he had done that day, as she did every time he walked through the door.

What an answer he would have had for her now.

'Daddy wiped out a planet today, sweetheart.'

Smoke rose up from the twisted metal, and somewhere, lost within the rubble, someone was shrieking.

Burning.

Vejita smiled, breathlessly.

He had done that.

The king stood up, faced his child, and said, simply, "You just stay with Nappa. I'll find you when we're done, alright? Do your best."

"Okay."

Nappa gave the king a quick bow of his head, and then led Vejita off.

The only thing that mattered to Vejita was getting more ships, driven by the need to impress his father. The more he did, the harder he worked, if he could be the best, then maybe Frieza would be satisfied and just leave them alone.

The screaming in the distance, far from a deterrent, only spurred him on, as much as the scent of the blood did.

Did the coyote ever have a change of heart just because the fawn cried?

The child had not yet learned to fly—instead, they crossed distance by leaps and bounds, since Vejita was too proud to have Nappa pick him up and carry him off everywhere when he was capable of getting there himself, albeit a bit more slowly.

Krillin stopped moving, stuck still in cognitive paralysis as the ruthlessness of Saiyan instincts conflicted with his own sense of right and wrong.

He didn't feel like lifting up his feet, and just let Vejita's memories drag him along for the ride.

Zooming over the barren lands of this strange planet, heart pumping and veins burning and eyes pinpointing every movement, Vejita was trembling with adrenaline, tail stuck out behind him like an arrow as he bounded on.

When he saw another ship looming in the sky, he set a course for it without really being aware of it.

Reflexes and automatic reactions took over.

Krillin watched as the ship was downed in a second, and Vejita's tail bristled with pride and excitement, and then Nappa was leading him off again.

One after another.

A blurry haze.

In Vejita's mind, it wasn't wrong.

It was just something that came naturally.

And even though Krillin felt sick, even though he knew it was wrong and even though the sight of every life being snuffed out was agonizing, he couldn't really fault the child.

His parents had taught him, and their parents had taught them.

When Vejita took out another ship with a rather feral curl of his lip, Krillin was absurdly reminded of something he had seen once on television.

A wolf cub had wandered off from the pack and come across a wounded rabbit. Too young to recognize the rabbit as prey, because its mother hadn't taught it yet, the lonely cub curled up beside the rabbit and stayed with it for days, grooming it and enjoying its warmth and company. When the rabbit died, the cub moved on, and eventually found its mother.

But when the wolf was grown, he had refused to hunt rabbits.

It was the same thing, wasn't it?

Vejita saw everyone before him as prey, except for Nappa, because the scent of Nappa was the smell of a Saiyan, and he had been imprinted to think of Saiyans as comrades rather than prey.

Beyond that, everything was fair game, and it wasn't wrong because everyone else did it and it felt far too easy and natural to be anything but normal.

If Krillin thought about it for a while (which he did, as he tried in desperation to drown out the shrieking and the death rattles all around), humans weren't really any different. Earthlings killed, too, didn't they? All types of animals, and other humans as well.

In war, it was a job to kill other men, and no one ever said it was wrong.

To condemn other species for doing what Earthlings did all the time in war was hypocritical, wasn't it?

Didn't make it right, in the scheme of things, but it didn't necessarily make it wrong, either.

Maybe there was no right or wrong. Killing was always going to be around, as long as there was life.

Vejita did only what was expected of him, by both his peers and his own genetics.

Oh, God.

The smoke was thick and foul, greasy with more than just rubble.

An hour or two of following where Nappa led, testing out his own abilities and getting off quite a bit of frustration in the process, the child's prowess for battle had already become quite obvious.

Vejita was a natural-born killer, as it was.

Nappa noticed it, too, and smiled widely as he watched Vejita annihilate another ship.

"Good job!"

Vejita was pleased at the praise, but he would rather have had it from his father than dumb Nappa. Nappa gushed over everything he did, so his opinion had lost its value over time.

In the end, he ignored Nappa's compliments and scoped the scenery.

Everywhere the child looked, there was only smoke and debris. Bodies.

Krillin could feel unpleasant drops of viscous blood spattered across his face and neck. No matter how hard he rubbed, it didn't come off, because Vejita didn't care enough to wipe it away, focused on other things.

Senses were far too heightened to worry about a little dirtiness.

Another long, relentless hour of destruction, and then the prince was reunited with the king.

He ran up to his father immediately, little chest heaving and heart racing and eyes wide with adrenaline, and he said, with pride, "I got twenty-two!"

The king stood there for a moment, staring down at his child with a strange expression that could have very well have been melancholy, and was silent.

Vejita's excitement became jittery apprehension.

Maybe his father had expected him to get more. Was he disappointed?

His raised fists of eagerness dropped a little.

Krillin could only imagine that there were a million things running through the king's head then.

His boots and gloves were spattered with blood.

Vejita didn't understand the way the king was looking at him, but Krillin knew that expression all too well.

It was the same way he had looked at Marron when Buu had been closing in on them.

Dinking in the sight of your child because you knew you soon might not ever be able to see them again.

Vejita's tail swished, and the king gave a little start then, snapping out of his pensiveness, and offered the child a smile, saying, lowly, "That many? You're a natural. You got more than I did."

The pride in Vejita's chest was dismaying to Krillin, who understood the king's halfhearted efforts and parental lies even though his own mind had been shot to hell from so much violence in such a short period of time.

The child assumed that, since he had apparently done such a good job, everything would be alright from then on.

"You make me very proud," the king suddenly uttered, as he continued to stare down at Vejita, and the child was so in love with the praise that he didn't quite catch the shadowing behind it.

Vejita was so preoccupied with impressing his father that he had momentarily forgotten that he wouldn't be around for much longer.

The deadline was closing in, and this planet was dead. Time to move on.

They went back into space, and sought new territory to conquer.

Vejita learned something new that day.

He lost something else.

The child was climbing a staircase.

With every step up he took, the step behind disappeared.

There was no going back.

The wolf had learned to hunt.

* * *

After three months in space, after a small handful of planets, they finally set course for home.

Tired and sated, Vejita was glad.

As they said, there was no place like home.

Home, sweet home.

The very second that the docked ship opened and Vejita stepped out onto his familiar planet, his mother was on him in an instant, scooping him up deftly into his arms and wrenching him away from the side of the king without so much as a word.

Vejita didn't struggle.

He had missed his mother.

The very first thing that crossed Vejita's mind, as his mother took him into the foyer and settled them down on the sofa, was the hope that his being away for a while had calmed his mother's nerves.

That his mother was better now.

They sat there, cross-legged and staring at each other as their knees touched, and Vejita could see that his mother still looked tired. His eyes were still dark and heavy, as if he hadn't been sleeping for weeks, and he had gotten a little skinnier. His hair was messy and his clothes were disheveled.

Even so, the look of adoration was clearly bright, and Vejita felt no fear.

His mother would always be beautiful to him.

Always.

Finally, his mother spoke.

"How was it? Did you do alright?"

Vejita, eager to please, nodded his head, and his mother smiled.

"I knew you would."

The words felt good, and his mother leaned down to take him up into an embrace, pressing their cheeks together and letting loose a sigh of contentment.

"I missed you."

"Me too."

It was the first time in what felt like forever that his mother had made him feel _safe_.

He never wanted it to end.

If this was his reward for doing a good job in space, then he'd purge the universe dry if it kept his parents safe and content.

Peering up at his mother, the child asked, "You're not sick anymore, are you?"

His father had said that his mother was sick.

After a short silence, his mother finally shook his head, and affirmed, "No."

Vejita was pleased, and accepted the answer.

Just a lie.

Like so much else, this tranquility from his mother didn't last, because days passed and the moon rose and fell, and time grew shorter.

Pressure grew.

Now that his mother and father were in close proximity again, the fighting resumed, and every single day was another notch in the winding chain.

Same old.

As they went at it with particular ferocity one night, Vejita sat on the stairs with Nappa and stared at his feet as he struggled to think of a solution.

If they were fighting because of him, then it stood to reason that he would be the answer to the problem.

Dumb Nappa may not have been the best person to go to, but he was the only one.

After a while of mindless conversation, Vejita turned his eyes up to Nappa and said matter-of-factly, "They're fighting again. They're fighting because of me. They hate each other."

There was a sigh, and then Nappa said, lowly, "They don't hate each other, prince. They love each other very much."—_Pfft_, was the child's immediate interjection—"They're just scared for you."

Vejita contemplated, and said, "Because of _him_, right?"

Nappa nodded.

"Mother wants me to stay here. Father wants me to go with him."

Nappa moved then, and twisted at the waist to grab Vejita's chin and force their gazes to lock.

"No," he said, very firmly, "Your father doesn't want you to go with him. Your father would rather die than give you to him. They just can't agree on how to keep you safe. Nobody wants you to go, but...nobody can think of a way out of it, either. Do you understand?"

Vejita just stared at Nappa, and then he said, in a lower voice, "I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay home."

Why _him_?

Why was he the one that had to go?

Nappa opened his mouth, but found no words of reassurance in the face of hopelessness, and then he just said, listlessly, "I know you do. We want you to stay, too."

They sat there, in silence, and Vejita turned his eyes back down to his feet and felt the burn of unfairness in his chest.

After a while, Nappa said, fervently, "Whatever happens, prince, I promise I'll be with you. If you—if you have to go, then I'll go, too. I'll stay with you, and keep you safe."

He didn't want that.

He wanted his mother and father. He wanted to stay home.

But he also wanted his mother and his father to be safe.

If that meant going to work for _him_, then maybe that was what he should do.

Children were so impressionable, and it was rather heartbreaking, Vejita's thought processes the next few days.

Ideas came and went.

Krillin barely had the heart to follow him around anymore, as those childish notions passed through his head, and he would rather have just sat down somewhere and blocked the whole thing out.

All this senselessness.

Vejita having to suffer because of mistakes his ancestors had made, and just because he had been born a little stronger than others.

Still, Vejita stood outside the door one morning, as his father and mother screamed at each other again, and when he had gathered enough courage, he finally pushed it open and stepped inside.

It took a second for them to notice him, and Vejita could see his father's bloody nose, held in his hand, and that his mother had been crying again.

He stood there, staring at them, and when his mother came forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, asking with a hoarse voice, "Are you alright?", he just stared at him, and then he nodded.

His mother's hands ran down his cheeks, gently, and finally Vejita said, "I'll go."

There was a long silence, and when his mother spoke again, his voice had turned thin and rather dangerous.

"No, no, you're not going anywhere, understand? Not anywhere."

But Vejita was resolved, and Krillin could barely lift his head as the child pulled back from his mother's grip and ran up to his father.

"He just wants me to work for him, right? So, if I go with him, and if I do a really good job, he'll leave us alone won't he? I can do it! I did alright back there, didn't I? I can do it some more. I'll do really, really well, and make him happy, so he'll leave us alone! Let me go with him! I'm not scared. I can do it!"

The king knelt down, forgetting his broken nose to grab his child, and he said, thickly, "That's very brave of you, son, but I don't think it will be that easy."

Vejita was insistent, and puffed out his chest and squared his shoulder in an effort to look bigger, saying again, "I can do it! Let me do it, father! If I'm the one he wants, then I'll go so he'll leave you and mother alone! I know what to do. You taught me how, already, so let me go! Let me help."

There was a long silence, as the king bowed his head and stared at the floor, and then Vejita's mother stood up, and hissed to the king, "You've made him think he has to be a martyr. Look what you've done!"

He stalked forward, grabbing Vejita up in his arms and clutching him, and Vejita squirmed around to look up at his mother and said, "But I can do it, I really can!"

Krillin could have sworn, for a minute, that he had accidentally been put into Vejita's mother's body, because the hopelessness he felt was unlike anything else he had ever known.

Failing as a parent as he had failed in so many battles was one of his greatest fears.

He didn't need to be in their bodies to understand the sentiment.

But Vejita's mother held strong, and pushed his nose into the child's.

"I know you can do it! I know you can, and I bet you'd be the best there was! But you belong here, alright? You're needed here. The people all need you around to be their hero, understand? If you leave, things will be worse. You have to stay home."

"But—"

"No buts," came the harsh interruption, and Vejita's mother lowered his voice into a stern whisper, "Don't you remember what I told you? He lies. You're not going anywhere with him."

Crushed in the strong arms, Vejita had little choice but to accept the rejection of his plan, and put his eyes upon his father, as the king stood there in defeat and held his nose.

Vejita's mother was staring at him, too.

Blood dripped steadily to the floor.

After a while of the intense gaze, the king turned on his heel and stalked out, caving in to Vejita's frightening mother as he always did.

Vejita wished he hadn't. Being alone with his volatile mother was frightening.

Alone and left to his own devices, his mother just plopped on the bed and sat there for hours, making not a move nor saying a word.

Vejita watched the door and counted the minutes until his father returned and he was safe again.

Krillin shifted anxiously, a lurching of disquiet and nervousness flowing through him as the child was so worried about setting off his dormant mother that every inhale he took was quiet and forced to shallow breadth to make as little movement as possible.

Vejita was terrified of his mother.

It would never cease to amaze him, how far some mothers would go to protect what they cared about, sometimes so much so that they lost sight of what was best for everyone.

A question, and a voice from years ago ran through his head then.

A theoretical situation he had posed to Eighteen one day out of the blue :

'What would you have done if Goku had lost that last battle, and Buu returned to Earth to destroy it again? Where would you have taken Marron, if you had had the chance?'

Her response :

'Nowhere. I'd've killed her first, if I had been able to, so she wouldn't have had time to be scared.'

He had only looked at her then, in disbelief, because he had been expecting something along the lines of 'to the lake that she likes' or 'to Kame house' or some such. He himself had never really considered that the worst would ever happen. They always pulled through in the end, always, so he had never even thought to contemplate such things.

Her answer had startled him so much because he had never lost complete hope in anything.

He was grounded, calm, laid-back and mostly stable; it was sometimes a little alarming to remember that she was not.

So many people weren't.

Vejita wasn't, and neither was his mother.

Krillin had never had to worry about anything his entire life, because Goku had always been there to fall back on.

Goku always saved them.

No one was going to save this planet, and Vejita's mother was tottering on the verge of doing what Eighteen had only spoken of.

Hours passed.

When the evening was well along, Vejita's mother finally came out of his catatonic state long enough to pull himself to his feet and take the child into his arms.

Vejita found himself being carted into the bathroom, where he was set down upon the floor as his mother bent down to draw water in the bathtub.

Vejita stood quietly still, and Krillin furrowed his brow and glanced around anxiously.

He would rather that the king were here as well. Vejita's mother made him nervous.

Always so unpredictable.

The sound of rushing water, and steam rising up.

Although Vejita didn't really consider himself dirty enough to need a bath, he kept his mouth closed and didn't dare question his mother.

As the tub filled up, his mother pulled him over, stripped him gently down, and picked him up to put him in the tub.

Sloshing.

The water was a little hot. Not painful, but a bit uncomfortable for the first few seconds.

After his body adjusted to the heat, it wasn't so bad, and he let his tense shoulders fall when his mother grabbed soap and a cloth and began to rinse him down.

It had been a long time since his mother had bathed him like this.

He wasn't a baby anymore. He could do it himself, and wanted to say so.

He turned around to look up at his kneeling mother, as the cloth scrubbed firmly at his back, and took note of the far-away dullness in his mother's eyes.

...well, on second thought, maybe it was better to stay quiet.

His mother met his gaze for a second then, and then he slid over on the floor to grab Vejita's foot and lift his leg out of the water. As the cloth ran up and down, his mother finally spoke.

"Relax. It's been a long day."

All he could do was nod, and try.

He would have given anything in the world to be able to relax.

He wanted to trust his mother.

This edginess was eating at him.

His leg was set back down in the water, and his mother repositioned himself behind the child again, and hands grabbed carefully at the crook of his neck.

Vejita tried his best not to let his pulse race when he was suddenly dipped backwards, quite briskly, for his mother only wet his hair.

The scent of shampoo, and his mother's warm fingers massaging his scalp.

Anxiety fled at the soothing motions and the heat of the water.

All of these changes lately and all of this stress had taken its toll on the child, and Krillin thought that he closed his eyes and let his guard down a little too quickly.

But who could blame him? The child just wanted to be loved by his mother. That was all.

Sleepiness crept up, and suddenly awareness was drifting in and out as Vejita's chin ducked down into his collarbone.

Krillin couldn't fight it off.

The warmth was too much.

Fleeting moments of darkness crossed before his vision, as Vejita's consciousness occasionally gave out, and when he was subdued and completely at ease, his mother spoke again.

"You know that going to him on your own wouldn't change anything, don't you? You could go across the universe and back for him and still he would turn around and destroy you. You can't help. Don't ever sacrifice yourself because he's threatened something you care about. Don't think you have to go to keep anyone safe. You need to worry only about yourself, alright?"

Vejita, half-asleep, took in the words and was a little embarrassed.

He had only wanted to help.

He should have known that he could never come up with something useful, not if his mother and father couldn't.

Not trying, though, would have been worse.

So, he nodded his head to satisfy his mother, and lifted up his chin as he struggled to stay awake.

His mother had been washing his hair for a long time now...

The same motions, over and over and over again.

And then, suddenly, the gentle fingers in his hair fell still, as if his mother had forgotten what he had been doing.

The child's sleepiness was driven away by unease.

Silence.

Vejita shifted his shoulders a little, as soap ran down his forehead and into his eyes, and he could hear, above the crackling of bubbles, his mother's shallow breathing.

An eerie calm.

His mother leaned forward then with a sigh, and rested his chin in the crook of Vejita's neck, stubble scraping against his wet skin.

He loved the feel of his mother, but the unfamiliar motions were disconcerting.

A nose brushed against his ear, and his mother said, breath warm against his jaw, "You've gotten big. You're growing up too fast, you know. You get more handsome every day."

He didn't respond, as his mother's strange breathing subdued him with an alarming sense of foreboding, despite the kiss that was placed upon the side of his neck.

His upper arms and chest were covered in goose bumps.

His shoulder was scraped and red from his mother's chin.

Then, without warning, his mother fell completely still, even his breath seeming to catch in his throat as he appeared to be frozen in time.

The child's lashes stuck to his eyelids as he squinted his eyes to protect them from the soap.

The fluorescent lights lit up the walls into whiteout.

His mother swallowed, and took a short inhale, and he could feel teeth pressing into his cheek as his mother smiled.

A low, earnest whisper, straight in his ear.

"I love you."

Vejita didn't even have time to register the fact that this was the first time his mother had ever said it; before he could even twitch his head, hands were on his shoulders and he found himself pushed completely beneath the water.

Air was suddenly gone.

There was a moment of immobility that felt like eternity, as shock and confusion rendered him still.

Bubbles and ripples before his eyes, as he opened them to realize he was beneath the surface. Fingers dug into his collarbone, as hands kept him below.

Astonishment, almost.

Krillin was sure it was astonishment, and an alarming reality was beginning to set in behind the child's incomprehension—that his mother really, truly, was going to kill him.

He was stunned, too.

It was a thing he would never have thought he would witness, except for perhaps in his very worst nightmare, and the very _real_ sight of it put him into a state of complete catatonia. Standing right above the bathtub, vision blurry with water that was in his eyes despite his position, he could feel his chest burning with panic and lack of oxygen, and some part of him could only wonder absurdly if this was how Eighteen would have done it if it had come down to it.

In the gentle waves outside of Kame house.

He could have sworn, for a moment, that he had seen a flash of blonde beneath the breaking water.

The child came out of his stupor at the same time that Krillin did, and they both began to struggle. Vejita kicked his legs as he grabbed at the hands pinning him down, trying to get enough leverage to get himself back up above the surface.

He couldn't, feet slipping and kicking uselessly.

Splashing.

His mother was too strong.

Krillin, holding his breath without actually realizing it, tried to spring forward and grab Vejita's mother and pull him back (maybe to scream 'What're ya doin'?' and give him a good whack), and yet even though his fingers could wrap around upper arms and grip, it was for naught.

No matter how hard he tugged, nothing happened.

He knew it was a pointless effort—you couldn't change the past, couldn't grip memories, but oh God, he couldn't just sit there and not _do _anything.

Couldn't.

It didn't last much longer, at any rate, before he felt his arms slipping back down as lightheadedness suddenly put him off balance.

The child was exerting too much energy for nothing.

The last air in his aching lungs escaped, and without thought the child's body tried to inhale, only to stop short when his esophagus got a burst of water instead.

Dizziness.

Then, just when the child was certain he was going to lose the battle and slip into the darkness, the hands on his shoulders suddenly released their grip at the very last struggle he put up, and he broke above the surface, sucking in air so quickly that his heart gave a lurching palpitation.

Coughing and sputtering, Vejita pulled himself up onto his knees and slid over to the other side of the tub, trying to get out of the reach of his mother. It took a moment for him to clear his vision, and it was by far one of the most terrifying moments the child had ever known, completely vulnerable and not knowing if his mother was going to try and hurt him again.

He could smell blood; his clawing out had caused injury, but he was fully aware that he was only alive because his mother had stopped on his own, not because _he_ had won by struggling.

When he finally wrenched open bleary eyes and looked at his mother, chest heaving and throat still aching from the water forced out of it, his fear mingled with confusion.

His mother just sat there, holding a bleeding hand within the other, still calmly upon his knees outside of the tub as he stared at Vejita with a tilted head and hazy eyes.

As if nothing strange had occurred.

He held out his hands, then, beckoning the child to come back over to where he had been.

A dazed, distant statement.

"I haven't finished washing your hair."

Blood dripped into the clear water.

Krillin shuddered and stood between them, as Vejita stared at his mother with terror, keeping as far away as he could, and then the child somehow managed to choke out, "I can do it."

His voice cracked as if he had a terrible cold, from the water that hung low in his esophagus.

His mother stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded his head.

"Alright. Hurry up."

With that, his mother stood up and staggered over to the door, and Vejita sank down in the water in relief, and Krillin collapsed onto the floor and bowed his head as a million thoughts threatened to shred his mind apart.

Oh.

Vejita sat there until the water was freezing. Too scared to step out and see what was on the other side of the door.

Confused feelings and incomplete ideas flittered through the child's head.

A game.

Maybe it had just been some kind of game, like the one he and his father had played in space.

Maybe his mother had just been testing him.

Despite the denial, the sensible part of Vejita understood that whatever was going on was not right—his mother was dangerous.

His mother had tried to hurt him.

Krillin was aware that the concept of death was not a fully formed realization. Vejita's encounter with death so far had been set into the context of a 'game'. The child had seen death, and vaguely grasped that it was a fearful thing to meet and by doing so he was losing, but he didn't _understand_.

He didn't understand that his mother had just tried to murder him, and not for the purpose of a game.

Hours later, when the sickening adrenaline in Vejita's veins had faded and his lungs were aching rather than burning, he finally heard his father's voice, muffled through the door.

Relief.

Krillin stayed close by his side as he hauled himself out of the pale pink water, and tread silently across the bathroom floor. When the child reached out a hand and grabbed the handle, pausing in reluctance, Krillin sidestepped and thrust himself in front.

For all the good it actually did. He couldn't intervene. Couldn't protect.

Still, it made him feel involved somehow, and honestly if he didn't at least try then he was going to go absolutely insane.

The door was finally pushed open, to a deceptively normal scene.

His mother sitting on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off and hands propping up his weight, and his father, standing in the other corner, speaking softly.

Normal.

They had never been normal.

His mother sat still, staring off blankly in a daze.

The king turned to look at the child when he come out, still damp, and greeted him quickly. Vejita stood in the doorframe, quietly leery of going within vicinity of his mother.

The king noticed his odd expression, perhaps, or maybe he could smell distress. Either way, he came over and leaned down to meet his child's gaze, and asked, "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

Vejita glanced up, for just a second.

His father's nose was crooked from where his mother had broken it earlier in the day.

Over his father's shoulder, his mother turned a weary head, and met Vejita's eyes.

Static.

It was the lack of any and all emotion there that forced Vejita to shake his head, and respond, voice raspy, "Nothing."

His father didn't need to know; he didn't need to have that problem piled on top of so many more, not now.

More than that, how could he have ever opened his mouth to actually say, 'Mother tried to hurt me'?

He couldn't.

The king nodded his head and looked away, and Vejita's mother continued to stare at him.

The cough went away after a couple of days.

His mother's eyes didn't ever seem to clear up, though.

All night long after that, he heard only that familiar, ominous sound of his mother chewing away on his nails.

Every night.

His mother was sick.

* * *

They had promised, once, that they would take him out to the distant plains and teach him to transform beneath the moonlight.

Never had.

The day finally came.

_That _day.

Vejita hadn't slept a second the night before, because Nappa sat out in the hallway with his head hung down and elbows resting on his knees, and his mother had shrieked and wailed.

His father was silent.

And, oh God, never had the break of dawn been so soul-numbingly terrifying.

Shock and disbelief.

When the first rays of light come in through the window, Vejita pursed his lips and pulled the blanket over his head, in a childish attempt to pretend it was still night.

How had time gone by so quickly? He didn't want to go.

His mother had promised he would never go, and yet the day had still somehow crept upon him. He could only wait, and see what his parents would do.

Not long after the rise of the sun, the blanket was lifted up and the mattress rustled, and Vejita opened up his eyes to see his mother crawling in beside of him.

They lied there on their sides, staring at each other as they had so many comfortable nights before, and Vejita's mother ran a hand down his face.

Vejita just gave a resigned sigh, and said, quietly, "I have to go, don't I?"

His mother didn't respond, weary and rather wan, the shadow of black stubble standing out in sharp contrast to his pale skin. He looked as if his entire universe had just imploded all around him.

Never had he looked so horrible.

The child didn't look much better off, although he wasn't aware of it.

Krillin saw their limp tails dangling behind them, neither one giving so much as a twitch, as if the weight of this problem was literally draining the life from them.

Out of nowhere, a jolt of nausea gripped his stomach, clenching it up in pain, and his mother must have seen the way his face contorted.

The hand fell still on his cheek, bleary eyes bored into his own, and his mother whispered, "Don't cry. As long as I'm alive, I promise, I won't let you go."

Vejita's nausea and fear was not calmed by the promise, nor the feel of his mother's hand. He was almost as scared of those words as he had been when he had first heard he had to leave in the first place.

Neither side was safe.

The sunlight grew stronger, and the usually quiet courtyard far below was loud and cacophonous through the window.

Not a good thing. Not today.

The planet was in a panic. Maybe his father was planning something.

He hoped so.

"Where's father?" the child asked, after a long silence, and his mother shook his head with a furrowed brow.

"Don't worry about him. He's not going to bring them here. I won't let him. I swear it."

That hadn't been what he had meant. He hadn't meant it like _that_. Why didn't his mother understand?

He just wanted to see the king. His father would know what to say to make his stomach calm down and this agonizing uncertainty go away.

Why did his mother hate his father so much?

The urge to burst into tears was stronger then than it ever had been, but stubborn Vejita refused to cry in front of his mother, because pride was all they had now.

He didn't want his mother to be ashamed of him.

But, _oh_...

It hurt.

Long hours passed as Krillin lied there behind Vejita, head propped up on his hand as he watched them getting their fill of the sight of each other, and surely his mother was just as uncertain as the child was about whether or not this would be the last time they were face to face.

His father never came into the room.

He would have done anything Frieza wanted, anything at all, if only he got to see his father before he left.

The clock ticked away.

The child jumped when hands suddenly fell down around his waist, and his mother pulled him upright into his arms and out of bed.

Was it time?

Krillin looked at the window, at the bright crimson sky, and felt a stirring of rage, creeping there beneath Vejita's anxiety.

Why did it always have to be this way? Why was it possible for such things to even occur? This entire ordeal, from slavery to purging to bartering a child, all of it was unimaginable.

How could the gods above, how could the _Kais_ see such things going on from above and do nothing?

Why did it all go on? Was it all some test?

He didn't see the point of any of it.

It had been said that the Saiyans had gotten what they had deserved—alright, yeah, maybe they were a race that had been bred for war and destruction, but did that make it right for another equally ruthless being to torment them? Where would it end like that?

An endless spiral.

Saying that the Saiyans had had it coming was just as cruel as anything the Saiyans had ever actually done.

Were any races so good that it couldn't be said that they too would one day get what they deserved?

Was Earth any better than this planet?

Cruelties and horrific crimes happened every day on Earth, genocide and murder and every kind of filth. What would have been said of them, if Vejita had succeeded in destroying the planet that first time he had come? Would the Kais have said, years later, that the Earthlings had brought it on themselves?

None of it made sense.

It wasn't fair.

Vejita may have already terminated so many lives, but he was still a little kid—uncomprehending of the impact of the things he did. Goku had been sent to annihilate a planet when he had been less than a year old.

Who had ever had the audacity to say that they too should have been destroyed along with the planet?

Whose decision was that, anyway?

Krillin followed Vejita's mother down the hall, as Vejita's heavy eyes peered out hopelessly from above his shoulder, barely breathing and hardly even aware, and the dismal thinking continued.

His own wife had once been considered little more than an emotionless plight on the universe.

A killer, undeserving of understanding.

Maybe being with Eighteen for so long now had affected him. Maybe she had gotten him rethinking everything they had once so flippantly accepted.

Had no one ever offered their hand to her in kindness, she would have just gone on causing chaos without a second thought.

When she died, would they say she had deserved it?

Sometimes, thinking too much was just damn irritating, but, goddamn, Vejita's misery was too sharp in his head.

He would rather try to dull a little bit, with anything at all.

The mother and child passed down the quiet corridor like apparitions, and even the sunlight that came in through the windows had turned pale and lifeless.

Entering his parents' bedroom was not as fascinating or comforting as it always had been before. The scent of the king lingered in this room, even if he wasn't here, and instead of reassurance it only brought up a horrible wave of longing that twisted his stomach worse than fear did.

Home.

His mother sat down on the royal bed, pulling Vejita up onto his knees, and he cradled him to his chest as if Vejita was suddenly an infant all over again.

His eyes stared blankly ahead at the door.

Vejita buried his face beneath his mother's chin, and tried to find a reprieve from reality for just a while.

Neither he nor Krillin were really aware when Vejita's mother began to hum that same old lullaby he had used years ago.

Reverting to a time that was much simpler.

At every little noise, his mother clenched him up and tensed.

It didn't take Krillin very long to realize that Vejita's mother was staring so intently at the door because he was expecting someone.

Waiting.

Darkness came with the evening, as the sun began to lower in the horizon.

The king was no doubt wasting time down below by throwing out last-minute negotiations in an attempt to delay the inevitable. How much longer before Frieza lost patience and stormed the palace?

Not all that long, actually.

His mother stopped humming suddenly, when the sky was black, and footsteps were audible in the hallway.

Panic crept up in the child.

Not his father's footsteps; too many, and too heavy.

The embrace tightened to the point of dizziness, and for one awful moment, Krillin thought that Vejita's mother was going to snap his neck.

He didn't.

Bolting to his feet, he instead slunk towards the back of the large bedroom, towards the massive dresser that towered in the corner, looking for a place to stash his precious cargo. In this instance, Vejita's tiny size was incredibly fortunate; his mother merely popped open a drawer, tucked him down inside, and whispered, "Don't come out until I say so. Understand?"

His mother looked so frightful in that instant that Vejita immediately nodded his head.

"Good. Not a word. Don't come out 'til I say, no matter what happens."

Crouching down and burrowing under clothes, Vejita hid himself, and the drawer shut.

In an instant, Krillin was cast into darkness.

The smell of wood and linen.

Turning his head, he could sense that he was lying down beside the child, although he couldn't see him. He could feel his warmth, and hear the shifting of agitation.

The footsteps grew louder. Closer.

It was indescribably dreadful, lying there in the pitch black and having no sense of what was going on outside.

One thought was clear in Vejita's head.

'_Father's going to be in trouble.'_

His mother's defiance and refusal to submit would end up harming his father.

Krillin rested his head on the sheets beneath him, and was still, beyond all, astounded.

Despite it all, for all of the senselessly hateful things going on around him, Vejita was still absolutely devoted to his father.

The king was God.

Oh.

He _missed _Marron. Was this how she felt about _him_? Did she sit in her mother's arms and look at him and think that he could do absolutely no wrong?

He counted the days until he saw her again.

If ever he had fallen short in anything, then, by God, seeing Vejita's father being escalated into the realm of deities by his child was enough to make damn sure when he got home that he would never again let his own down.

Not ever.

Not like this.

Outside, the pacing of his restless mother fell still as the door opened.

Loud voices.

Muffled words.

The child struggled to make out the conversation.

"—the prince?"

"Dunno. Can't say. I haven't seen him."

"Oh, come on, he's gotta be 'round here somehow! Lord Frieza gave you plenty of time—"

"He's not here, I said. Why don't you go ask the king?"

A gruff laugh.

"Already did. Didn't find his little highness anywhere there, so he's gotta be in _here _somewhere."

Vejita's heart lurched.

Was his father alright?

His veins burned.

'_Not dead, he can't be dead, he's too strong, not dead, he's not dead, not dead—'_

Dots of white flashed across his vision in the impenetrable darkness.

His temples were pounding.

"He's not here! Get out! Go back to your pitiful boss and tell him to come in here and test me himself if he wants the prince."

Another laugh.

In his mind, Krillin could already see Vejita's mother fuming and tottering very dangerously on the edge of explosion.

Then there was a familiar beep, and a whir, and a voice said, "Well, let's see."

Just like that, the gates of hell were opened, and Vejita's mother turned into a demonic whirlwind.

War was declared.

The child had seen and heard and participated in battle, on frightening planets millions of miles away, but nothing, nothing, could have ever compared to the sound of his mother's snarls and cries as he engaged in a sudden life-and-death struggle.

The most terrifying thing he had ever heard, and it was somehow surreal.

Everything had been alright this time yesterday...

Things breaking. Grunts and shrieks.

His mother's vocal ferocity.

There wasn't a second of it that Vejita didn't spend holding his breath, eyes wide and neck flushed with heat as adrenaline rushed in and the urge came up to leap out and help.

He could have helped. Why hadn't his mother let him stay out? He could fight, too.

Another scent began to creep up beneath the strong aroma of the wooden armoire.

Sharp, and pungent.

Before the child could pinpoint it, there was a particularly loud cry of pain, and there was no doubt that it came from his mother.

And then everything was quiet.

A small whimper was quickly stifled as Vejita threw his tiny hands over his mouth, forcing his voice and breathing into silence.

Not a word, his mother had said.

Laughing that was far too close to him, echoing right outside the dresser, and then the footsteps retreated to the door, then down the hall, and then were gone.

A suffocating, unbearable silence.

Vejita lied there and waited for his mother to speak.

His heart was trotting so quickly that Krillin was certain he would either faint or drop dead, and he just waited, waited and waited and waited, ear pressed to the wood as he listened for even a breath, just a whisper.

The only breathing he could hear was his own.

Krillin couldn't see, but he could feel the child's blinking increase rapidly and his brow scrunching as the frustration brought up the urge to cry.

Vejita repressed it, because if he cried then he might give himself away or, worse, he might not hear his mother should he call to him.

Oh, please, please, please—

Nothing.

The smell grew stronger with every minute that passed.

Finally, after a silence that felt like an unholy eternity, there was a rustle from within, and then a low, strangled whisper.

"Vejita...you can come out."

He knew his mother's voice, and oh, God, relief had never been so strong. He was shaking now, from jitteriness and exhilaration.

The drawer creaked open from outside, as his mother tugged it, and light shattered the dark.

Without a second thought, Vejita crawled out.

Pieces of metal and plastic lied all over the floor.

That sound from earlier.

Krillin realized in that split-second that Vejita's mother had fought them just to shatter their scouters and render them senseless to the child hiding away.

He had known fighting would be the end of him, and he had done it anyway, just to break a few lousy scouters.

Just to bide time.

For what? What good would it do?

Vejita's mother cared little for rationality and for what was easier—he was fueled only by pride.

Vejita didn't notice the broken machinery lying on the ground; in the instant he had come out, the overwhelming scent of iron had struck him still.

Blood.

Before, on those nameless planets, the scent of blood had lit up a trigger in Vejita's brain with the desire to hurt. This time, with the scent of this blood being so similar to his own, it switched on another instinct.

Panic.

His mother had staggered over to the door in the time the child had fallen still, leaning up against it as he clutched at his chest.

A trail of blood as wide as the child was left behind him.

Vejita took a slow, reluctant step forward, as his mother stared at him from beneath bloodied bangs.

He found his voice long enough to ask, foolishly, "You're alright, aren't you?"

A strange smile, and a response that was not what he had expected.

"They're gonna find you. You know that...don't you?"

Vejita sped up his pace, desperate to grab his mother and confirm that they were both alive and alright.

His mother was alright.

Had to be.

Neither Vejita nor Krillin had ever even considered that the tables would have flipped so suddenly, and when the child was close enough, Vejita's mother had gathered up the last of his energy and lashed out like a serpent, snagging Vejita by the neck.

He should have known better than to go near.

Just like the last time, the child froze up.

A moment of incomprehension.

It didn't take as long to wake up this time as it had the last, however, not when both hands were digging into his neck so fiercely that Krillin was sure his windpipe was going to be crushed.

Vejita immediately reached up, grabbed his mother's wrists, and tried desperately to pry him off. He opened his mouth to speak, but making sound at all was impossible, tight as the grip was.

His mother had promised he wouldn't let him go.

Was this what he had meant all along?

As before, Krillin found himself torn between the awful sensation of being strangled to death and the need to intervene, even though he knew it was just a waste of time to even bother.

Hopeless.

The child was no match for his mother, even when the latter was mortally wounded.

No air, no escape, overwhelmed by the scent of the one he should have been the safest with and that awful smell of blood, frightened and helpless, and his father had promised him that _he _would be the one to fix everything—

Too much.

They fell to the floor in a heap when Vejita's mother lost the last of his strength and toppled forward, taking the child in his vice grip with him.

Pinned and already seeing black, the child could only dig his toes reflexively into the stone floor and deliriously try to figure out how any of this had happened in the first place; disjointed thoughts, as clarity fled.

He could have done a good job, if his mother had given him the chance.

He could have done it.

Blood dripped down onto his face, as he locked eyes with his mother.

Far away.

Space had been so enthralling.

Stars everywhere.

His mother's face had gotten closer to his own, and, even past his blurry vision, Vejita was certain that something within his mother was fading as much as he was.

This game would end in a draw.

The king had told him he would be a super Saiyan.

Maybe his mother knew better.

He'd never be king.

The grip on his throat suddenly slackened, right when the brink of permanent unconsciousness came up over his eyes, as his mother collapsed upon him, his full weight pressing the child painfully into the floor. Too weak to keep grip, his mother fell limp, and moved no more. A dizzy Vejita used the opportunity to break free of his hands and squirm out.

He could still feel fingers digging into his windpipe long after they had gone.

Every breath hurt.

His mother lied there on the floor, and didn't move.

He lied there, too, flopped onto his stomach and face pressing into the cold stone as he panted for air that he couldn't seem to get enough of.

It would have been too easy just to go to sleep, but somehow he rolled his head to the side enough to glimpse his still mother.

Even though he was right there, he still felt so far away. No movement in the darkness.

The moon had come out.

Pale light through the window.

He realized that his mother's tail was twitching.

Still alive.

Dizzy and rasping, Vejita summoned strength from absolutely nowhere and crawled slowly back over to his mother, slipping a little in the blood that was pooling out beneath him, and when he was strong enough, he got up onto his knees and reached out, tugging his mother onto his side with great effort.

Krillin would have told him to get away, but the feeling then was too potent. Instinct or devotion, whatever it was.

Love.

His mother was his mother. No matter what.

It wasn't his fault—Frieza had made him this way. His mother had been alright before.

Sick.

And now, hurt.

Grabbing handfuls of fabric, Vejita gave a tug, trying to stir his mother back into consciousness without hurting him more.

It worked, at least as far as the child was concerned.

His eyes opened, lethargically, and Vejita was glad. Their gazes locked again, as his mother peered up at him.

Krillin saw the passage of darkness through the mother's eyes, and instantly knew the thought that must have passed through his mind :

'I thought I'd killed you.'

There was a low exhale that seemed to expel more blood than air, and the stubborn creature that was Vejita's mother lied on his side next to his child, as he had so many times before, a lopsided smile creeping upon his face even as he bled out on the floor.

Probably reveling in the fact that his child was so damn hard to kill, crazy as he was.

A hand reached up and ran down Vejita's face.

No fear this time, no threatening motions or painful touch.

Gentleness.

Familiar and comforting, as it always had been before.

His mother's hand was just a little colder this time.

"Sorry," came the ghost of a whisper. "I tried. I shoulda just...killed us all, when I had the chance. So I could have kept you."

His mother's eyes darkened, and breathing became erratic.

"I waited too long."

The hand fell limp and flopped back down to the floor, and Vejita leaned in, grasping his mother's collar in desperation as he once again tried to pull him upright.

No use.

Fading.

His mother just lied there, face contorting as the urge to cry came over him, and Vejita had to lean in to hear him when he whispered, thinly, "I wish I'd killed you."

Vejita didn't understand why his mother wanted him dead.

Was the road before him so long that his mother had just thought it was better to spare him?

Tiny fingers clenched in his mother's collar, as the child tried one final time to pull him upright.

All he got was another useless plop, and a weak grunt of pain.

He stopped trying.

All he was doing was making it worse.

Help. He needed to go get help.

His father would know what to do.

Vejita meant to pull himself to his feet and go to the door, but fingers on his wrist stopped him, catching him in a grip that Krillin was surprised his mother even had the strength for.

Vejita jumped a little, at the touch, and at the indescribably horrific appearance of his mother.

The look of death, although it would be years before Vejita understood it and recognized it.

His mother's final words.

"Tell your father that I'll see him in hell."

He fell still after that, eyes staring at nothing, and there was a long moment of silence, as Vejita's mind tried to comprehend this situation.

Death still made little sense to him.

Furrowing his brow and leaning forward, blood dripping from his shirt, Vejita reached out and grabbed his mother's arm, shaking him.

No response.

Vejita was growing agitated, and he opened his mouth to say, 'Wake up!', but nothing came out.

His voice was gone from the assault on his throat.

Instead, he took soft hair in his hands, and tugged.

Nothing.

Desperation took hold of the child, and he reached down to grab up a limp tail, and jerked it.

No movements except for ones that he created.

Another minute of jostling, and then Vejita's hands fell still, and he gripped the tail in his fists, clenching it for all it was worth.

Frustration brought on the urge to burst into tears yet again, but it was quickly suppressed, yet again, when Vejita clenched his teeth and reminded himself that this had been done for him.

For him.

His fault.

He should have come out and given himself up, and his mother would still be alive.

Nothing was right.

He brought the tail to his face, drawing in every last scent from his mother and forcing it to memory, and then he pulled himself up to his feet, and moved quietly to the door.

He began his trek down the hall, soaked with blood as he was, and Krillin had little choice but to follow him, even though his legs felt like lead and everything tingled.

His head was going to explode from pain, he was certain of it.

It was the first time that the child realized that they were not invincible.

Killing had been easy, thinking that he was impervious to losing the game himself.

Only other things could die—not _them_.

His mother was dead.

Numb.

The halls twisted this way and that, and it didn't take long to realize that Vejita was just wandering aimlessly, lost or not sure of where it was safe to go.

He didn't make it far.

Hands reached out from the darkness of a corridor and snatched the child by the waist, and a hand clasped over his mouth as he was dragged back.

A terrible burst of fear, and then a deep, urgent whisper.

"Be quiet, prince. I've got you."

Fear vanished, and Vejita turned around gratefully.

Nappa.

Under normal circumstances he would have protested being carted around like a baby, but he didn't lift a hand when Nappa took him up into his arms and darted off back into the halls he had already passed.

"Stop," Vejita tried to say, as best he could, "Go back. Mother needs help—"

His voice was just a hiss of air, but Nappa had somehow understood, and responded, lowly, "I'm sorry, prince, I can't. I have to get you safe first."

Throat burning from those few attempts at words, Vejita fell silent, and let Nappa do as he would.

When his father found out that his mother was dead because of him...

He dreaded that moment.

Never had he been so ashamed.

Nappa carried the child back through the shadows, and before long they came to a secluded room, and he hit the door twice.

It opened, and when they stepped inside, the feeling in Krillin's chest exploded into joy and horror and fear and everything else.

The king.

Vejita had feared that he was dead, too.

The child was snatched from Nappa's great arms and set down, and the king looked very nearly hysterical as he knelt down and observed his blood-soaked child. Hands gripped his shoulders and then flew up to his hair and then down to his face, as the king looked everywhere for wounds and found none.

Silence.

The king pulled back a bit, and stared at his child with fright.

"Are you hurt?"

Vejita stared at his father for a moment, and then shook his head.

His father bowed his head in relief, took a great breath, and asked, "And your mother?"

Guilty dizziness.

He lowered his eyes in shame, and shook his head again.

That simple act said it all.

The king, face tight with misery but trying very hard to remain intact, lifted up his child's chin and said, in a strained whisper, "It's not your fault. It's mine. I should have acted sooner."

His father could say whatever he wanted, but the child was not swayed.

It was _his _fault.

A hand brushed back the bloody bangs sticking to his forehead, and his father inquired, tentatively, "Did he...say anything?"

Vejita stared at the king, opened his mouth, and quickly fell still.

It hurt to speak, and even if it didn't, what would he say?

'Tell your father I'll see him in hell'?

Could he really say such a thing to the king, and hurt him all the more?

Instead of the truth, Vejita yet again shook his head.

The king was still for a while, then pulled himself together and nodded.

Everything faded.

The next moments were blurry, as Vejita's awareness drifted with exhaustion.

He passed in and out.

He remembered the king, holding him and speaking lowly to other men. He remembered Nappa stomping his foot and screaming. He remembered a trek down the hall. He remembered fingers in his hair.

He remembered being set down, and standing before a man.

Zarbon.

Garbled words, as the king and the man spoke.

He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep.

He couldn't.

The king's voice had turned so low that half of the words were lost to the wind, and then someone was kneeling before him and hands grabbed his face.

He came to, then, for a bit, and saw his father staring at him.

A weak smile.

"You can do it. Remember what I told you. You'll be the one."

He didn't want to be the one to do anything.

He wanted his father.

So he just stood there, staring miserably at the king, and didn't say a thing.

Arms looped around his neck, as his father spared him a rare, fervent embrace.

The last thing the king ever said to his son was a quick word of wisdom.

Gripping his child tightly, the king put his lips against Vejita's ear and whispered, "Remember, son. None of this was ever your fault. None of it." His father pulled back, and two sets of identical eyes met in a fleeting moment of communication that could never have lasted long enough. Vejita was given a gentle shake, as his father tried to emphasis the importance of his words. "_Remember_. A king rules for his people, a tyrant for himself. Don't ever forget what you are, no matter what he says. Remember everything I told you. Be smarter. Don't forget."

Vejita clung to the words, and nodded his head, squaring his shoulders as he tried to be brave.

Inside, he wanted to cling to his father and never let go.

He didn't want to have to try and understand complex issues of kings and tyrants.

He just wanted to stay home.

A finale whisper.

"I love you."

His mother had said that for the first time not long ago. Now his father was saying it, as they stood on the brink.

Saying it was bad luck.

Saying it was nothing more than a goodbye.

Bad things happened afterwards.

Hearing 'I love you' from his father terrified him more than any warnings and brushes with danger ever could.

He knew then, as the king's hands fell onto his shoulders and thumbs ran down his neck in an effort to touch as much as possible, that he would never see his father again.

He could feel it.

Like someone was trying to rip his insides out with a knife.

His father stood up, leaving a blur—everything had slowed.

He felt dizzy.

Another hand fell on his shoulder, firm and heavy. Uncomfortable.

"Come on, he's waiting for you."

Zarbon's hand was nothing like his father's.

The child would rather have ripped it off than have it touch him, but he held still.

From now on, everything he did reflected on his father.

He felt himself taking a step, and then another.

An unfamiliar ship.

He stopped, right below, and hesitated. Zarbon attempted to prod him on, but he felt absolutely numb.

All things considered, Krillin supposed that Zarbon was being rather patient and careful with the child, but it didn't change anything, and it didn't make it any less loathsome.

Vejita looked over his shoulder suddenly, even though he knew that doing so was breaking his façade of bravery.

His glance was for naught.

His father had turned his back, tail hanging limp and shoulders slumped, fingers lax at his sides.

He had turned away. He wasn't looking.

Vejita's brief glance was torn away by Zarbon pressing the button that opened the door. A whir of mechanisms, and Vejita turned his eyes back straight ahead.

His father hadn't seen.

Naught.

And then Zarbon started walking up, up, up, and Vejita didn't feel brave anymore, if he ever truly had.

He felt sick.

Never in his life had Krillin wished that he could reach out and hold Vejita's hand like he did then as the child took the first step onto that ship.

Dread.

They had told him he would be their savior.

He had ruined everything. He had made everything so much worse.

His mother was dead.

He wasn't a child anymore.

He wanted to stay _home_.

He was no hero.

The feel of his planet's air and the scent of the palace and the trees faded with every step forward that he took.

Cold steel, and machinery.

Krillin tried to delay it, but could feel his feet stepping up onto that hard metal, feel himself walking into the ship of the tyrant who had once killed him, seeing another casualty of war, and standing by and watching as he was once again useless and unable to intervene or help on behalf of others.

Useless.

All he had ever been.

The door slid up, Zarbon looked down at him with a carefree leer, and the child didn't quite know the name for the feeling that burned through his chest then like acid.

Krillin did.

Fury.

Everything until this had been a great, turning wheel upon which the child had tottered, waiting helplessly to see where it would stop spinning.

He had found his direction now, and no feeling he had ever known, not even adoration and awe for his father, not respect or fear for his mother, could ever compare to this silent hatred that was building up underneath the child's anxiety.

When the door shut and he saw his planet for the last time, when Zarbon smiled at him as if something pleasant had occurred, when he knew that there was no one left that cared about him, that odium was suddenly the only thing left to hold on to so that he wouldn't cry.

And, _oh_...

"Lord Frieza's been expecting you."

He was still soaked in his mother's blood.

He kept a straight face, and didn't say a word.

Oh.

_Hate_ had never hurt so much.

He had to suffer it, and plaster a false smile that was more of a grimace onto his face, because his father was still alive.

Smarter.

He had to be smarter.

His father had put trust in him.

With no outlet, the hate just festered there below, as Vejita clenched his fists and clamped his jaw and went willingly aboard the ship that housed the creature that had ruined his life.

In his head, only painful throbbing and static.

This moment was little more than the first tremor at the base of the volcano.

Vejita lied dormant for now, and let the pressure build.

When he was older, when he was smarter and when the time was right, when he was strong enough, he would let the volcano finally erupt.

He'd burn them all.

The child vanished that day, and Krillin was introduced to a new Vejita.

Hate.


End file.
